


In Between Days

by missdibley



Series: A Girl For All Seasons [7]
Category: British Actor RPF, Chris Hemsworth - Fandom, Emma Thompson - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Magic Realism, Old Love, Romantic Comedy, Smut, Somewhere in Time - Freeform, Time Travel, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after meeting and falling in love, Tom and Esme are long separated but still connected through their five year old son. They’re both older, sure, but are they any wiser?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Godfather

**Author's Note:**

> Rated E (explicit) for anticipated smut. This chapter should be considered PG.

> _Yesterday I got so scared  
>  _ _I shivered like a child  
>  _ _Yesterday away from you  
>  _ _It froze me deep inside  
>  _ _Come back come back  
>  _ _Don't walk away  
>  _ _Come back, come back  
>  _ _Come back today  
>  _ _Come back, come back  
>  _ _Why can't you see  
>  _ _Come back, come back  
>  _ _Come back to me_  
>  The Cure, “In Between Days”

* * *

The plan for Valentine’s Day 2022 was the same as it ever was:

  1. Bourbon
  2. Burger
  3. Sad bastard movie - previous years had featured _Bright Star_ , _The Way We Were_ , and _Love Story_. This year’s pick was _Summertime_ with Katharine Hepburn.
  4. Bed
  5. Consume 1 and 2 while watching 3 from safety of 4
  6. Try not to cry self to sleep.



Then one year I stray from my routine and what happens?

Tom Hiddleston. That’s what happens.

If you look him up on Wikipedia, scroll past the details of his charmed existence and glorious professional career, you’ll find me tucked into the section devoted to his personal life:

> _Hiddleston became engaged to girlfriend Esme Frances Grey in May 2015 whilst on holiday in Ireland. They ended their engagement, and their relationship, in December 2015. Their son, James Charles Grey-Hiddleston, was born June 2016._

I don’t like the idea of Charlie or me on something so public as Tom’s Wikipedia page. But Tom is Charlie’s father, and I am Charlie’s mother so there you go. Anyway, it’s better to be linked to Tom there than in numerous news outlets and gossip columns around the world.

I might be linked to Tom elsewhere on the internet. I don’t know. I try not to know.

I don’t employ him myself, but Tom’s PR rep Luke keeps an eye out for me and for Charlie. He does it himself instead of farming it out to one of his impossibly young and cheerful interns. We’re family, he says, and it’s important. I wish he didn’t feel like he had to do it, but I am touched by it.

The last time Luke called me about something he found (which ended up being nothing at all -- yes, that was me at the Evans in Oxford Street buying black opaque tights but no I will not confirm what size) he said:

“Esme, I wish you’d pop in for a chat. Let me show you what I can offer. For you and for Charlie.”

“No!” I must have yelled a bit as Charlie looked up from his coloring at the kitchen table. “Sorry, baby. Go back to coloring.”

“Who are you talking to, Mama?”

“Uncle Luke.”

“GIMME!” Charlie hopped off his chair and flung himself at my feet, arms outstretched for my iPhone. I rolled my eyes and gave it up.

“Uncle Luke… uh huh… it’s fine… we have a guinea pig now… no, at school…. his name is Winthrop… he told me… we speak in guinea pig Latin… YES WE DO!”

I arched my eyebrow at Charlie.

“Sorry, Uncle Luke… I know.” My baby squinted at me. “You want her to visit? Can I come too? Will Hermione be there? You gave her my letter, right? Okay. Here’s Mama.”

Before I got back on, I whispered to Charlie: “What did you tell him?”

“Uncle Luke’s taking us to lunch on Saturday,” replied Charlie proudly.

I sighed. “Puppy!”

When Charlie pushed his lip out at me and furrowed his brow, looking more like his father than I’d ever seen him, I gave up. “Alright, but we’re not getting junk food, okay?” I kissed the top of his head then got back on the phone.

“We’re going to the Five Guys in Islington, Es.” Luke sounded smug.

“Luke, I _just_ told him…”

“Consider it payback. Justice, if you will.”

“You’re still bitter we didn’t name you his godfather?” I smirked.

“I resent the implication!”

“It’s not my fault Tom could never make up his mind.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Or that you lost the coin toss to Hemsworth.”

“Right.”

“As well as the arm wrestling…”

“Enough!”

“Luke, I’m getting supper on the table. See you Saturday. Bye.”

Stifling a laugh as I hung up, I returned my attention to the chicken adobo simmering on the stove. Charlie had abandoned his coloring so he could stand in front of the rice cooker (no Asian household should be without one), watching it and waiting for the ding that signaled it was time for this little family of ours to sit down together and eat.

* * *

Before Charlie was born, when I wasn't freaking out over being 40, pregnant, and alone, I prayed for things. Many things. Things like Charlie being born healthy, me staying centered despite the hot mess that was my life at that time, and that Tom… I don't know. That he could go back in time and undo what he did to break us? Mainly I remember asking the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost (who in my mind resembled The Notorious B.I.G., Jay-Z, and Nicki Minaj) that my baby would look Asian.

Hear me out.

Before he died, my grandfather always went on about how proud he was to be Filipino. He looked as mestizo as they come, though. He was even mistaken for native Spanish when, as a young man, he went to Spain to study law. But he was 100% pure _Pilipino_ , _puntanginamo_ , and never let us forget it.

So of course you could have knocked us all over with a feather when, on his deathbed, he confessed that he was only a quarter Filipino. 25% Filipino, 25% Spanish and 50% ENGLISH.

Hence the surname of Grey instead of something that sounded Spanish or Tagalog. Hence the propensity towards freckling instead of tanning. Hence the lack of resistance from the family when my father married, not the near virginal Cebuana who was due to inherit a sugar plantation, but my surly Chinese-Filipino mother who he met at medical school.

So I have freckled sorta sallow, sorta ivory skin,  and fine black curly hair instead of my mother’s straight thick hair. Eyes are dark brown, almost black. I’m taller than most of my female cousins, but I’m also heavier too (all that rice).

This was on my mind the more I looked at ultrasounds and pictures of interracial child models on the internet. I wanted my baby healthy but I also wanted him to look Asian. To look like he was mine. To look like my child and not my charge. There’s no shame in being one of the thousands of _Pinays_ who look after children not their own. I know that. But that wasn't me.

If I had to describe what Charlie looked like, it would be as though there was an Asian filter for Instagram. Take a picture of an adorable blue eyed boy with curly blond hair and ears that stick out just a _little_ too far, apply Asian filter (darken hair and eyes to dark brown, apply olive skin with a propensity for tanning, refine shape of eyes, keep thick eyelashes) and there you go. A five year old Asian Tom Hiddleston. With dimples.

Go ahead and swoon. I’ll wait.

* * *

When Luke arrived at Five Guys for lunch on Saturday, Charlie made him sit down so he could write our orders with a crayon on a paper napkin. Luke accompanied him to the register, where Charlie insisted on paying for lunch (borrowing money from Luke to pay for it). When Luke told me what happened, I was mortified.

“Charlie! Luke, how much do I owe you?” I frowned when Luke snatched up the receipt before I could take a look at it.

“What, Mama?” Charlie pushed his lip out at me. [“Lilo borrowed money from Nani when she got Stitch.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaa_jzILsuo)

“And how do you intend to pay it back, then?” I smiled then booped Charlie’s nose to show him I wasn’t cross.

“Allowance.” He leaned in, looking conspiratorial. “I brought it with me in my backpack. Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay, love. Thank you for lunch, baby.”

Luke opened one of the greasy paper sacks and withdrew two foil-wrapped packages. He opened the lot, revealing two grilled cheese sandwiches which he then placed in front of himself and Charlie.

I frowned, concentrating on their food. “Wait, you didn’t get…”

“Mayo, Mama!” Charlie picked up one of the halves of his sandwich. “They put mayo in it!” He took a huge bite, chewing slowly (with his mouth closed, thank god).

Luke did the same, swallowing his bite and taking a sip of his fizzy pop before he looked at me. “Go ahead, you can say it.”

“English people are obsessed…”

“We prefer ‘overly fond’”. Luke said drily. “Isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Yes, Uncle Luke.” Charlie mimicked Luke’s tone, which made me giggle.

“Why mayonnaise when there are so many other sauces…”

“Well, a lot of those other sauces have mayonnaise as a base. It is a kitchen staple!”

“Staple!” said Charlie.

“Essential to our national security!”

“Security!”

“Mayonnaise is England itself,” Luke said reverently. When he began to hum “God Save The Queen” I waved a napkin in the air.

“I surrender! Please!” Shaking my head, I took a bite of my burger (two patties, American cheese, grilled mushrooms, A.1. sauce). “Mmm. Delicious, and I didn’t even have to put mayonnaise on it.”

None of us could finish our massive sandwiches so I got some foil from the counterman to wrap them up. When I got back to the table, Charlie had just settled down to coloring and Luke was pulling a folder out of his messenger bag.

“Oh,” I said dully. “That.” I sorted out the leftovers, then folded my hands in my lap.

Luke smiled, then pushed his glasses up on his face. “Es, it’s just a plan. And not even much of one. Look here.” He plucked a brightly colored diagram out of his folder and slid it in front of me. “Just a few examples of ways to communicate your message to the media and the public at large. Concise statements that respond to, or anticipate the possibility of, certain life events that might elevate your public profile.”

“But I don’t have a public profile. Tom does.” I peered at the sheet. “I don’t have a target audience. Why would I have a demographic?”

“It’s not about them but about you. Doing what’s best for you and for Charlie.”

“You don’t think I’m already doing that? Trying to do that?” I sighed. “I just want his life to be as normal as possible. We’ve been over this. And Tom agrees with me.”

“I know he does.” Luke glanced at Charlie, who continued to color.

“Does he even know you’re here?”

“I had told him I would be bending your ear about this again…”

“And that’s why I insisted on being here, too.” A familiar voice broke into our conversation.

Of course.

“Daddy!” Charlie practically vibrated with excitement. He abandoned his coloring for a quick hug.

I squared my shoulders, then looked up into the wide blue eyes of my ex.

“Hey, Tom.”

I tried not to be obvious about sliding away from him, giving him room when he took the last available seat at our table. Across from Charlie and, of course, next to me.

Tom doesn’t disgust me. He doesn’t smell, and he isn’t even remotely creepy. That’s not why I slid over. The reason I did was because I worried that if he even so much as brushed his sleeve against mine, not even having his skin against mine, I’d drag him into the toilets and have my way with him.

Yeah. Even after all this time. Even after all the pain.

Once upon a time I told him that even if we parted (we did), and I grew to hate him (I did once, though it subsided eventually), I said my body would never forget the way his loved mine. I must have been drunk or still in the throes of an orgasm after we’d had sex, because who the fuck talks like that?

Fools, that’s who. Fools in love. And I was determined not to be made a fool of again.

* * *

I told Luke I’d think about it. He didn’t press me much, just walked me through a few of the scenarios his diagrams illustrated. Popping the folder in my tote bag, he and I lingered over our drinks while Tom got himself a burger and some curly fries.

“Lift?” Tom asked.

Luke had left the three of us on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, as he had to prep some clients for a premiere that night. I looked down at Charlie, who was grinning up at the two of us.

“Dunno,” I mused. “I’m pretty sure I promised Sir Charles here a bus ride back.”

“Sounds good to me.” He laughed when I looked at him skeptically.

“Really? You? Ride the bus?”

“Why not?” Tom patted his pockets. “I’ve got my Oyster card.”

“What about your car?”

Tom shrugged. “It’s at home. I got a taxi here.”

I shook my head. “That’s so expensive!”

“Hence the reason why I must take the bus back!”

“Bus! Bus! Bus!” Charlie took his father’s hand and tugged him to the crossing, where they waited for the light to change.

As we walked to the bus stop, I hung back a few feet and watched the pair of them. Even at 5, Charlie was tall for his age. He had the same springy step, loose-limbed and playful, as his dad’s. He and Tom were dressed identically - hoodies and dark jeans, black pea coats, even the same [navy blue Sambas](http://www.zappos.com/adidas-originals-samba-mc-collegiate-navy-white-gold-metallic?ef_id=VgGzjwAAAPosTVko:20160218163905:s). Charlie had his hood up, not because it was so cold but because of them. The photographers who always seem to find us on the rare occasion that the three of us are together in public.

When we got home, I checked my email. There was already a shot of us from lunch. A fuzzy picture on Twitter, sitting at the restaurant. Small Fry wasn’t in it, and there was only a partial profile of Luke. But it was still a decent photograph. I had my head propped up on my fist, eyes on Luke, a smirk on my lips (thank god I remembered to reapply my lipstick after I ate) and Tom, handsome as ever, eyes bright and cheeks rosy, looking and smiling at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously Charlie's birth was stated as occurring in July 2016. I'm revising so he is born June 2016 to accommodate better real life events as they unfold.


	2. Lady Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Charlie off to his father Tom's house for the weekend, Esme's plans for Valentine's night consist of watching movies at home with a few girlfriends. Of course, a few friends from her past are determined to interfere.

“I said I’ll think about it.”

I sat cross-legged at the foot of my bed, inspecting a hangnail while on the phone Tom was trying to convince me to come to dinner. It was just a few hours after he had joined me and Charlie on the bus ride home from lunch with Luke.

Tom had gotten off the bus with me and Charlie -- he had to as our sweet boy, soothed by the rocking of the bus in London traffic and Daddy whispering made up stories about our fellow passengers, had fallen asleep in his father’s arms. I let Tom in so he could tuck Charlie into his own bed, but I didn’t insist he stay for a cup of tea. I thought about it, but I didn’t.

“Come on, Es,” he pleaded. “I’ve got him until Monday. Why not join us for a meal?”

“Because it is your weekend, your time with Charlie. You need that time with each other. So you can do things. Father and son things. Manly things. Things of men.”

Tom laughed. “What could be more manly than a father and son taking their woman out for a meal?”

I snorted. “So I’m your woman? Is that right?”

“Yes, in that you are the mother of my child. So it is practically your duty to put on a nice dress and let us buy you a steak.”

“A burger and a steak in the same day? Does that come with a blood pressure medication chaser?”

“Washed down with the finest Kentucky bourbon, of course.”

I smiled to myself. “I can’t believe you remembered my thing.”

“Of course I remembered. It’s Valentine’s Day. I know what that means. Bourbon, burger, bedtime movie,” replied Tom. “I remember everything.”

It was nice, talking like this. We were always good on the phone. Friendly. Flirtatious. When we were together, it eased the difficulty of him being away for work. I had this vision of myself as Tom’s girl, the girl who wasn’t waiting but living a cozy domestic life for the two of us until he could return. But it’s been ages since I’ve been that girl.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door. I didn’t look like anybody’s woman.  I looked like a tired single mother. A tired single mother in a cashmere turtleneck, skinny jeans that somehow still managed to sag in the seat, and a pair of hip Rag & Bone ankle boots, I’ll give you. But still so very tired and so very single

“Actually,” I said, my voice breaking a little. “As it happens, I’m not free. I have plans.”

“Oh! Do you need to get going? Should I fetch Charlie now? Es, you shouldn’t have let me go on.”

“It’s cool. I’ve got time. And I can drop Charlie off at yours. I need to run out, pick up snacks, find some movies.”

“Date night?” Tom asked, a little too loudly.

“Ah, no. A couple of girlfriends. Another single mum from Charlie’s playgroup, and Pegeen from work.”

“I’m sure they’d understand if you cancelled? We are talking about Valentine’s Day supper with your one and only son.”

“Tempting but…” I shook my head. “I promised. We’re supposed to sit around, do masques, drink wine, and complain about our exes.”

“Well, that hardly sounds appropriate given the holiday.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to spend all my time complaining about you.”

“Thanks, dear.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am going to spend a lot of time complaining about you. But not all of it.”

“Es…”

“Most of that time. Maybe some overtime when I have that third glass of malbec. But really…”

“Essie!” Tom said with a laugh. I felt pleasantly warm for a moment. First, because I love that I can still make him laugh. Second, because he hasn’t called me Essie in years.

“How about this?” Tom asked.

_Uh oh._

“I will pick up young master Charles myself, and you will allow me to plead my case again.”

“No!” I protested. “I already ordered a pizza! I’m making brownies!”

“The pizza will keep! As will the brownies, though I will gladly take those along.”

“Enough! I have my girls night, you have your night of manly pursuits with Charlie. Call if you need anything. Otherwise,” I sighed. “See you tonight.”

“Fine,” he pouted.

“Oh don’t sound so defeated.”

“That isn’t the sound of defeat, Esme. That is the sound of grace as a mask for staggering heartbreak.”

“Hyperbole much?”

“Hush, you!”

I cackled.

Tom chuckled. “7:00, you said?”

“Yeah. He’s napping now but 7:00 is good. Try not to let him stay up too late.”

“Yes, Mumma. See you at 7:00.”

I tossed my phone aside, then looked up at the old plaster medallion on the ceiling. I tuned out a little as I squinted at the detail of it. This house is old, creaky and occasionally it even whines when the wind is up. But it is mine. Bought with money pulled out of an old investment account, as well as a small inheritance left to me by my grandfather. I had let that money sit for a long while, remembering his advice to use it for something fun. A house for his unmarried granddaughter and her child born out of wedlock? Yeah. That sounds super fun.

When Charlie was born, Tom had proposed I take his house for good, or perhaps we could take turns living there so the baby could stay in one place. But I insisted on having a house of my own, somewhere Tom had never lived. I wanted a place that was just for Charlie and me.

We live close to Tom’s, sure, but the streets that separate us tend to wind and double back on themselves. There are dead ends and changes in street names. There is no route between our houses that is not complex. It was almost as though we were hiding, Charlie and I. But it honestly never occurred to me to do so, to be so heartless and so foolish. I couldn’t keep Tom away from his son. Even if he would never be my husband, Tom would always be Charlie’s dad.

* * *

“Mum?”

“Yeah, baby?” I stopped whirring around the living room. Charlie sat on the couch, backpack at his feet, watching me as I tidied up for my guests. The pizza had been ordered, the brownies were baking, and instead of going to look for videos (because it’s 2022 and where would I even find a video store?) I rented a bunch of stuff through iTunes.

“You look pretty.” Charlie looked almost shy when he said this.

I looked down at my outfit. I’d swapped out the skinny jeans for leggings, but kept the cashmere turtleneck. I was barefoot, with an immaculate pedicure because while I may be single I am most certainly not dead. I knew I had flour and cocoa powder on my thighs and butt, as I am an enthusiastic but messy baker, but I didn’t care. Tom’s mother had been kind enough to send us a package of treats, beautifully wrapped with a gorgeous note. I took the red ribbon from the parcel and used it to tie up my hair in a messy ponytail.

“Really? I didn’t even dress up!” I knelt on the floor in front of him, smiling when he threw his arms around my neck.

He put his hands on my face, one on each cheek.

“Your face looks like a heart, Mum.”

_Aw._

I miss Charlie’s babyhood but having a little boy who can talk, make jokes and pay his mother compliments is wonderful.

And then he blew a raspberry against my forehead.

_That rascal..._

I was about to tickle him when the doorbell rang.

“Can I?” Charlie waited for me to nod before he popped up and ran to the door. He placed his hand on the knob, looked at me, as I now stood behind him a few feet away, then asked “Who is it?”

“It is I, your father. Thomas Hiddleston.” I snickered when Tom’s voice boomed from the other side.

Charlie opened the door. “Hi, Daddy!” he chirped.

Tom smiled as Charlie took him by the hand and led him inside. “Was that funny? Did you like that? I hope it wasn’t too…” He trailed off when he saw me standing there.

“Are you okay?” I asked. I looked down at my outfit. “Sorry I look like a mess. I was baking.”

I rubbed my hands on my thighs, trying to clean off some of the flour. Ran my hands over my chest, checking for cocoa. When I looked up at Tom’s face, which was flushed, I stifled a nervous giggle. But I couldn’t keep the smirk on my face.

“Hey, Tom,” I murmured, letting my eyes flit to the front of his trousers. I looked away just as fast.

_Oh boy._

For someone who can’t dress himself, Tom looked awfully nice for just coming over to get Charlie. He wore a nice white button-down shirt, with just a little stretch to remind you there’s nothing but muscle underneath. The top three (or was that four?) buttons popped to reveal his beautiful neck. Slim cut dark jeans with a black leather belt, ankle boots to match. Over this, a grey herringbone jacket. Leather driving gloves tucked into his pocket. Clean-shaven. Hair neat except for a few loose errant curls at the brow. All very nice, entirely appropriate.

But the look on his face. Pure lust. No conflict or confusion, just a look of certainty in his eyes that I remembered all too well. How could I forget? It was the look. The one that said three things:

  1. Me.
  2. You.
  3. Now.



We just stood there. Charlie was somewhere putting on his coat and getting his bunny to stuff into his backpack. Tom and I were spared having to explain why Mummy and Daddy were staring at each other while breathing really, really hard.

“Ready!”

I coughed, startled by the clamor of Charlie running down the stairs. Bunny in hand, he didn’t notice me blinking rapidly as I clapped a hand on the back of my hot neck. Tom’s face resumed its normal, non-lusty pallor. Charlie stuffed the doll inside his backpack, then announced it was time to go.

I followed them out to the car. Once his father opened the door, Charlie got himself situated and buckled up. I gave him a kiss before I closed his door for him. I was about to say goodbye to Tom when I remembered my present.

“Wait!”

I dashed back inside to get the brownies I had made. An extra batch, just for them. Tom rolled down his window to take the package from me. He smiled at it, then set it down carefully on the passenger seat.

“Take care of my valentine, okay?” I said.

Tom nodded. “Of course. I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Sure,” I said. “Drive safe.”

Just as I was about to step away, Tom looked at me closely. He clenched his jaw. I froze because if there is one thing that is true after all this time, it is that him clenching his jaw will always turn me the fuck on.

And then he reached for me. His finger skimmed my jaw just as he flipped up the collar of my sweater. He let one hand linger on my cheek.

“It’s cold, Es,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” I gulped. “Good night.”

Tom licked his bottom lip, then opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something else. Instead he smiled, then started the engine. He waited for me to turn around and start walking back to the house before he pulled away.

Inside my house, all was quiet. The next batch of brownies were almost finished. I had gotten two bottles of wine, and in the fridge there was a pitcher of white sangria. I got a text from the pizza place, saying that Ines was on her way with my order.

In my mind, it was not as quiet. There were questions. _Old ones like Why? Why now? Why is he doing this?_ but also new questions like _By the time Tom drives back, gets Charlie settled in his room with a sandwich, a glass of milk, an iPad, and noise-cancelling headphones, you’ll be naked in bed and ready when he comes in to fuck you hard like you know he can so what the fuck are you doing here by yourself?_

* * *

I actually had an offer. A date thing with a man, a sort of friend. He was someone else from the night I met Tom and we fell for each other. He’s been around, checking in every so often with an email or a funny text. When he’s in town, which is not often, we just hang out. He’s met Charlie but they haven’t spent much time together.

Tom hasn’t said as much, but he doesn’t like Michael. I can tell that he doesn’t but he won’t say anything because Charlie likes Michael. I like Michael, too.

Maybe it’s because Charlie is getting older, and ostensibly I have more time to be selfish and think about myself, but I’ve been seeing Michael more. He’s been working less, but by choice. Wants to be closer to home in London, his family in Killarney. He’s easy to talk to, and happy to do low-key, almost boring things that always end early.

It isn’t dating. He’s not my boyfriend. But I still worry because he’s well-known and I’m not certain I need another celebrity in my life. It’s nobody’s fault but Michael palling around town with Tom Hiddleston’s ex and his child? There’s no drama but that image could certainly make things difficult.

I’m not sure if I would worry about so much if it wasn’t Michael. If I could date somebody different. Someone normal. An architect or a lawyer, owns a nice apartment but would gladly give it up for a proper house in Putney with the right girl, a dog, and 2 well-behaved children.

But ever since that night seven years ago when Tom and I first met, when I discovered you can in fact fall in love with someone in one night and travel through time, my life has not been normal. I try to keep Charlie’s life as normal as I can. If it comes at the cost of my personal life, well, so be it.

But now it would seem aspects of my private life are turning public. First, there was this charming item in a tabloid last autumn after a run-in near Regent’s Park that turned into a lazy afternoon ramble: 

> _**Fassy’s Lassy** \- Has love tamed London’s favourite bad boy bachelor? Spies tell us that Oscar-winning actor Michael Fassbender has given up his revolving carousel of starlets for one girl. No word yet on the mystery girl’s identity but signs point to someone who’s been in this space before._

A gossip blog ran this on New Year’s Day: 

> _**Babes in Black** \- It seems all of London’s fabulous, famous, and fortunate rang in the new year at the opening of Andres Balasz’s hotel/spa/speakeasy/aquarium/haberdashery in Shoreditch. All except Michael Fassbender and a mystery woman who were spotted ducking into a showing of cult classic Black Narcissus in SoHo. While Fassy’s ginger scruff and devilish grin were hard to miss, as shown in the photo below, his date’s face was obscured by her artfully tousled mane. Salons from Westminster to Wimbledon are already claiming responsibility for the gorgeous ‘do._

I would like to take the opportunity to point out that the artfully tousled mane was greasy as fuck, put up with about three million bobby pins, hairspray, and a prayer. The tousling happened thanks to a sudden gust of wind as we were running up to the theater.

Two weeks ago - a print celebrity magazine! Two pages with color photos that captured me as I ran around town doing glamorous things like picking up dry cleaning, tasting cheese at the farmer’s market and, my personal favorite, squinting into the sun and pointing in various directions while trying to give directions to Hampstead Heath. They said: 

> _**Lady Grey!** \- Readers, meet Esme Grey, the new woman in Michael Fassbender’s life (and maybe his bed?). If the sultry American looks familiar, she is! She was last seen in these pages as the girlfriend, then fiance, then ex-fiance of Oscar nominated actor and leader of the posh brigade Tom Hiddleston. Grey and Hiddleston are parents to a five year old son, James Charles, and are reported to be on good terms._

I wanted to sue the fuck out of that rag for even printing Charlie’s name. Who cared if they claimed I was Michael’s girlfriend.  But this felt like if I wasn’t careful, then Charlie would be a target. Get hurt. I didn’t want that.

But I must have been naive not to consider it’s this shit that might have prompted Luke to get in touch. For Tom to stick a little closer to home in recent months, claim he’s spending more time reading scripts before accepting offers. It never occurred to me to care because, well, Michael and I are not young. I don’t even think we’re cool or even that interesting.

He’s just a phenomenally sexy, talented man who’s got awards and money, a not-quite-a-boyfriend-but-not-just-a-hookup who let me ride his motorcycle (and his dick that one time years ago).

We are friends, Michael Fassbender and I. Just friends.

* * *

The pizzas were warming in the oven, and I was shoving a brownie into my mouth when the doorbell rang. I tripped over the runner in the hallway as I went to answer the door.

“Well it’s about time you two…” I stopped when I saw who it was standing on my doorstep.

“Hey, Es.”

Chris Hemsworth, still as blond and muscular and sweet-faced as ever, stood there with a sly smile on his face. He pulled me into a huge bear hug before I could start yelling in surprise. He released me into the patchouli oil-scented embrace of his partner in crime.

“Dearest Esme.” Emma Thompson smiled up at me, patting my cheek with her hand. “Hello. You look wonderful.”

“Thanks, Emma.” I admired the long cashmere coat she wore over a cozy sweater dress and soft grey leggings. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.“You’re not cold?”

“At my age?” She snorted. “Besides, Hemsworth here just carries me about when we’re on one of our capers.”

“And is that what this is, then?” I looked up at Chris. “A caper? Did Tom put you up to this?”

“A caper, yes.” Chris admitted. He shot a look at Emma. “But no, Tom doesn’t know we’re here.”

“So who sent you?” I scowled.

Emma tutted at me. “Don’t sound so cross, darling. You make me sound like I’m The Terminator.” She perked up and looked at Chris. “But you on the other hand, that could work!”

“You haven’t answered my question!” I yelled.

“Well, before we answer that, mind if we come in?” Emma looked behind her. “Storm’s coming up.”

“Of course!” I clapped my hand to my forehead. “Sweet fancy Jesus, where are my manners? Come in, come in.”

After I hung up their coats and got them settled on the couch, I got texts from Pegeen and Other Sad Single Mom from Playgroup. Both said the same thing: “Sorry. Taking a rain check. Have fun!” Huh.

I looked at Chris and Emma, both of them sitting on my couch and looking entirely too innocent. While he was flipping through the movies I’d selected, Emma was shoving a brownie in her mouth, scattering crumbs all over her beautiful sweater dress. They looked completely bizarre and utterly charming sitting next to each other.

“Gorgeous brownies, Es.” Emma sat up and eyed the pizza I’d retrieved from the oven and set on the coffee table. “These are brownies I am eating, yes?”

“Yes, Emma. [Katharine Hepburn’s recipe.](http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/10782-katharine-hepburns-brownies) I thought it was appropriate as I had been planning to watch [Summertime](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summertime_\(1955_film\)) tonight.”

“But you got this!” Chris looked at me in astonishment while he gestured at the television. “You’ve rented [Somewhere in Time](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somewhere_in_Time_\(film\))!”

“You’ve seen _Somewhere in Time_?” I scoffed. “Since when?”

“Still waters run deep,” Emma intoned. She elbowed Chris. “Tell her!”

“It’s a classic! A story of love and time and time travel, set in beautiful romantic Michigan! Christopher Reeve at his finest, and Jane Seymour at the height of her beauty!”

“I haven’t seen it yet…” I started.

“WHAT.” Chris sat back in a daze. “My own godchild’s mother hasn’t seen the finest movie filmed and set on the paradise that is Makinac Island. Did you know they don’t allow cars there? But they did for _Somewhere in Time_!” He pushed his lip out at me. “Clearly you’ve been twatting about with Charlie’s film education!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, as his godfather, you can take over Charlie’s film education, okay?”

“Classic film… what is she talking about…” Chris continued to mutter. He was only slightly mollified when I gave him a slice of pizza. I passed another slice to Emma, then took one for myself. I took a nibble then watched the two of them eat and pretend like they weren’t up to something.

So Charlie does see Chris a lot. I see Emma when I can but she has a family and her writing and her work. The annual trip Charlie and I make to her estate in Scotland is a tradition. But we don’t all hang out like this. As far as I know, the two of them hadn’t spent time together since they decided so many years ago that I needed to learn the true meaning of Valentine’s Day.

“You know, as much as I love seeing you two, I have this sneaking suspicion that you were not here solely to eat all of my food and make fun of my taste in movies.”

“Well, no, but the food and movies are a big help.” Emma smiled brightly. “Was that a pitcher of sangria I saw in your icebox?”

“Enough!” I pointed at the both of them. “What are you up to? Tom’s behind this, I know it. He doesn’t need the two of you to do his dirty work for him!”

“It’s not him, Esme. Just listen…”

“Oh come on!” I cried. “It’s Valentine’s Day, he was all weird in the car when he picked up Charlie, and now you two show up. Don’t tell me my ex isn’t up to something!”

“Well, Es, I don’t know about that. But this, us being here with you?” Emma took my wrist. “It wasn’t Tom.”

“Well, why are you here then? Who sent you?” I looked up at Chris, who took a deep breath.

“Charlie,” he said softly. “Charlie sent us.”


	3. The Fairy Godmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esme Grey sets out for the house of her ex, Tom Hiddleston, on a seemingly mysterious Valentine's Day mission at the request of their five year old son, Charlie.

_“Charlie sent us.”_

Okay. Sure. That made sense.

My five year old son with Tom Hiddleston was responsible for his godfather Chris Hemsworth and his aunty Emma Thompson turning up at my house. A five year old boy who only just learned how to tie his shoes (which, to be fair, he is very good at), had set into motion a plan? a surprise? a something involving me and his father and Chris and Emma and god knows who else on Valentine’s Day.

Which just happened to be the seventh anniversary of the night Tom and I met.

I took a breath. I ate a brownie. I took another breath.

Before I could eat another brownie, Emma handed me a roll of parchment, leaving me to read it while she and Chris tidied up.

> _From: W & W _ _  
>  _ _To: Emma 2_ _  
>  _ Subject: Assignment for 14 February 2016
> 
> _Our client, Mr. James Charles Grey Hiddleston, kindly requests the presence of his mother, Ms. Esme Frances Grey at the residence of the client’s father, Mr. Thomas William Hiddleston, on the evening of February 14, 2016 at 20:00._
> 
> _Mr. Christopher Hemsworth will meet you at Ms. Grey’s home at 19:30. He shall accompany you on your journey._
> 
> _W & W _

“So you’re taking me to Tom’s.” I looked at Emma, who nodded at me. “But then what?”

“We take you there and then…” She looked at Chris. “Hemsworth?”

“Dunno, Es,” Chris replied. “Meeting here, taking you to Tom’s, that’s our assignment.”

“Don’t forget eating my food, guys.” I grinned.

Emma giggled. “Well, we do the best we can, dearest.”

“Well, can you tell me who W & W are?” I asked.

“You’ll meet them soon enough,” said Emma crisply. Before I could ask more questions, she shook her head then tapped her bare wrist. “It’s 7:45. Best get a move on.”

She herded me to the front hallway where, finding my regular down coat inexplicably splattered with mud (“Dear me, Esme, however did that happen?”), she helped me into my good one. She flipped up the collar, then re-tied the ribbon on my ponytail. “Beautiful. See?”

I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror. She was right. I did look beautiful. That thing that happens to Asian ladies in middle age, where you still look pretty good and then all of a sudden you transform seemingly overnight into a weird sort of asexual blob and you freak out so much you get a terrible perm and start dressing in sweatsuits, hadn’t yet happened to me. It didn’t hurt that the coat was black cashmere, just back from the dry cleaner so it was pristine, soft and not yet covered with lint. My hair was shot through with the strands of white, but it was still very glossy and dark against my complexion.

Like Charlie said, my face was heart-shaped. My cheeks were rosy, and I had only to bite my lips to turn them a deep shade of pink.

I put on my trusty [ Cambridge satchel ](http://www.cambridgesatchel.com/en-us/cross-body-bags/the-medium-twist-lock-satchel/TLSMD1119PGH10101.html?cgid=cross-body-bags), which still contained a few things I’d taken on my last date thing whatever with Michael. Breath mints, cash, makeup. Condoms.

_Oh. Right._

I used some of the makeup in my purse to define my eyebrows and line my eyes. When I flicked the liner, Emma murmured her approval before kissing my cheek. We laughed when Chris joined us, as he brought us each a sippy cup full of white sangria and a slice of pizza in a paper towel.

Outside it was quiet in the neighborhood, but the storm was getting nearer. I could see the flashes of far away lightning. The wind whistled through the trees, and I thought I felt raindrops as we dashed to the car for the short drive. When I stuck my key in the ignition, nothing happened.

“That’s weird.” I tried it again, but nothing. “I drove it yesterday, and it was fine. Either of you know how to hotwire a car?”

“Yes, actually. But we can walk there, can’t we? Let’s do that.” Emma jerked her head down the street. “Come along, chickens.”

“Should we call Tom, let them know we’re coming?” I checked my phone, squinting when I noticed that it wouldn’t respond to my touch. “That’s weird.” I held it up. “It isn’t working.”

“It’s just as well,” replied Emma mischievously. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Oh sure.” I rolled my eyes, then smiled when Chris took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. He made his steps shorter to match my stride.

We walked in companionable silence, me nodding in a particular direction when Emma would lead us to a corner. The streets were still quiet, though, with just the odd squirrel or stray cat crossing our path. The lightning kept its distance, and the raindrops I felt earlier did not turn into a full shower. Even so, we kept a brisk pace on our walk to Tom’s.

I looked up and Chris and smiled. “It’s our friend-a-versary.” I chuckled. “There I was, buying myself roses at the supermarket, and then you show up with some crazy story about the meaning of Valentine’s Day.”

Chris grinned. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It was.” I sighed. “I know you said you didn’t know what the plan was, but this weather, my car not working. This isn’t you?”

Chris shook his head. “Nah. I got out of it. Valentine’s Day, time travel, the lot. After you and Tom, you know…” He looked sheepish.

“Broke up?” I squeezed his bicep. “It’s okay, Hemsworth. You can say it.”

“I can say it, sure,” murmured Chris. “Doesn’t make it any less…”

“Painful? True?” I shrugged. “It’s been years, love.”

“Wrong, more like. Doesn't make it any less wrong.” Chris shook his head. “Wasn’t supposed to happen, Es.”

“Well, it did,” I said ruefully. “People fall out of love all the time.”

“Is that what you did, Es?” Chris said quietly. “Did you and Tom fall out of love?”

Before I could stammer something that sounded like a reasonable explanation (if not the truth, exactly), as if I really owed him one (but didn't I?), I heard Emma clear her throat.

“We’re here.”

I didn’t see any lights on in the house, as the wall was too high to peek over. I punched my code into the keypad but nothing. The gate would not open.

“Is there a non-electric lock?” Emma looked at me. “I don't suppose you have a key?”

“There’s a deadbolt but I don’t usually have my key on me.” I hopped up, trying but failing to see over the top of the wall. “I don’t suppose we can do the old fashioned thing and throw a pebble, try to hit a window?”

“Okay, Hemsworth.” Emma poked Chris in the ribs. “Hoist her over.”

“What?!” Before I had a chance to protest, Chris grabbed me around the hips and lifted me. I had only a few feet to go, and then I was sitting atop the brick wall. When I looked back over my shoulder, Chris and Emma were gone. “What the…” I began to curse but I was cut off by a deep voice in front of me.

“Over here, darling.” A hand materialized in front of me. Taking it, I hopped down, landing a little hard before stumbling into the arms of Luke Windsor.

“Luke! Of course it’s you.” I smirked. “I should have known.”

He laughed, then pushed his glasses up his nose. “Of course, darling. Sorry to keep you in the dark, so to speak, but my client requires the utmost secrecy and discretion.”

“But I’m your client’s mother!” I protested.

“True enough,” said Luke lightly. He took my hand and together we walked to the front door. Finding it unlocked, we let ourselves in. I was relieved to see that the power appeared to be on in the house. Luke took my coat, and I took a moment to get a good look at the living room before we made ourselves comfortable. Bookshelves tidy but nearing capacity, and the couch still plain but handsome. I folded myself into it, curling up when Luke took a spot beside me.

“So where’s Charlie, then? I demand an explanation!” I laughed.

“He’ll be here soon enough,” Luke replied. “But I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Of course. What about?”

Luke cleared his throat, then sat up and looked at me closely. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. “So you’re probably wondering…”

“How, and perhaps why, did my five year old conspire to bring me to his father’s house on Valentine’s night?”

“Something like that, yes,” said Luke. “Well, you know I’ve always thought of myself as Charlie’s honorary godfather.”

I kissed his cheek. “You know you are. You’re his Uncle Luke.”

He nodded, looking pleased. “Yes. Well, as Charlie’s honorary godfather, I thought it was time you met his fairy godmother.”

“His fairy godmother? What are you talking about? Who?”

Emma Watson emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray set for tea. She put the lot down, then sat before taking my hand in hers. Her smile was warm, and I was cheered immensely by the sparkle in her eyes.

“That would be me,” she said kindly. “It’s nice to meet you, Esme. My name is Emma.”

* * *

 

“Once upon a time, in a far away land called, um, Illinois, a beautiful woman fell in love with a handsome man. She left the far away land for an exotic kingdom called England, where the man made his home in a quaint hamlet called London.

“They lived together and loved together. The man was away a lot but the woman understood that his work was important. She was patient, and got to know London very well. She learned to refer to pants as trousers, to look to the right before stepping off the curb into the street, and to emphasize that under no circumstances did she want mayonnaise in her hamburgers.

“After a time, the man and the woman saw each other less and less. They agreed that while they still cared for each other very much, they could not live together as they used to. Though they parted, they knew they had made the right decision. They would always be connected for, not long after they had decided to separate, the man and the woman discovered they were expecting a baby boy.

“They named their baby James (after the man’s father) Charles (after the woman’s grandfather), and they all lived happily ever after.”

I took a sip of tea, smiling when Luke and Emma applauded my recitation. “But you two know this story, don’t you?” I looked at Luke. “I mean, I know you do, certainly. You were there for, well, all of it.” I smiled at Emma. “And you are Charlie’s fairy godmother, so you must have heard it already.”

Emma nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, this is similar to the version I tell Charlie. Only, I say it in the second person, as part of the larger story of his life. How he was so lucky to end up with so many people who love him.”

“Starting with you and Tom, of course.” Luke smiled into his mug as he sipped his tea.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But Emma, how are you Charlie’s fairy godmother?” I turned to Luke. “How does she get roped into all of this?”

“Well,” Emma began, “When Charlie was born, I got a note. A rolled-up piece of parchment, just like the one you have there in your hand. It said, quite simply, that on the Fourth of July 2016, my fairy godson was born.”

“And you didn’t think that was strange?”

“I did, at first,” Emma admitted. “I used to get all sorts of fantastical stories and artwork from fans. I thought this was something in that vein. But then Luke called me, asked if I’d gotten the note.”

“I invited her to tea with me and Emma Thompson,” Luke said. “We explained the rest of the note then.”

“The note said where he was born, but it didn’t tell me who he was. There was the invitation to tea that Luke had already extended on the phone, and that I was to bring a present. Something for the baby.”

“We told her everything. You and Tom travelling through time, falling in love, Charlie,” said Luke. “She’s all caught up.”

“So what do you think of it, Emma? It’s pretty wild, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but the idea that time travel was real? Not just something Hermione could do?” Emma grinned. “Insane but utterly irresistible. Once Luke and the other Emma assured me it was real, and how they used it to help people…” She laughed. “How could I not get involved?”

“And I guess I’ve always wanted a fairy godmother myself,” I confessed. “I think Charlie’s pretty lucky that you’re his.”

“It’s been an honor watching over Charlie. Ever since that day I came to tea, and gave Luke the bunny I brought for him.”

“You gave him Thumper?” I took Emma’s hand. “Of course you did. He loves his bunny.”

“Oh, I know, and I’m so glad,” replied Emma. “Thumper was my gift to Charlie. And in return, he sends me things subconsciously. His dreams and wishes.” She tapped her temple. “All up in here.”

“Oh? Are they… I don’t mean to pry, but is there something he’s upset about?”

“Not really, but there is a wish. Well, two. They’re the same every birthday, and every Christmas.”

“Well, the Christmas one I know about.” I shrugged. “As much as I’d like to give him a little brother or a little sister, that’s not entirely up to me.”

“Isn’t it?” Luke asked. “I mean, you’ve done so well on your own with Charlie.”

“I know, and it’s okay.” I winked at Luke. “It’s just, I think it could be harder. Me on my own, two small children.”

“I’m sure Tom would help,” he said.

“When he’s here, sure. But I couldn’t ask him to work less, be here more just so he could help me raise another man’s child. I have some family, but they’re all in the States. They do ask me if I ever think about moving back, but…” I shook my head. “Charlie is Tom’s only son. I couldn't take him away.”

“So, that brings us to the birthday wish.” Emma arched an eyebrow at me.

“Are you sure you should tell me that? Isn’t that bad luck?”

Luke laughed. “Maybe, but we thought we could get around it. Fulfill the spirit of the wish, the true meaning of it.”

“The true meaning?” I asked. “Wait, what?”

“Who’s your valentine, Es?” Luke asked.

“Well, Charlie. He’s the love of my life.”

“Of course.” Emma nodded. “How would you feel if, for one night only, you had a different valentine?”

“Whoever did you have in mind?” I asked.

Luke pointed upstairs. “Who did you think?”

“Tom?” I looked at Emma, then at Luke, then back at Emma. “Tom?!”

“Yes, Tom!” Emma laughed. “Why not?”

“Um, we’re not together…”

Luke tutted at me. “We know, and we don’t want to force you back together. But why not a single evening? A date between two people who share a history and, let’s not forget, one small child.”

“Charlie knows the story, the one you tell him, about how you met, fell in love, but ultimately came to live apart. He knows you love him.”

“I know,” I nodded. “And he’s pretty good about understanding our situation.”

“But there have been times,” Luke said quietly, “when he wishes you were together.”

“I know.” I wiped a tear from my eye. “I know he does.”

“So if you could, maybe just for a night? Spend a little time with Tom?” Emma said kindly.

“It will be like a dream, not just for the two of you but for Charlie as well. Show him what it was like before he was born.”

“All of it?” I asked. “The good and the bad?”

Luke shook his head. “No, just… one night. Like the night you met.”

“Albeit without the x-rated bits, eh?” I chuckled while Emma blushed prettily and Luke choked on his tea. “Okay. It’s just one night, okay? Me and Tom on a nice Valentine’s date. Charlie gets a nice dream out of it, and we all go back to normal in the morning.”

“Well, it may not be normal, but it will certainly be memorable.” Luke stood up. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” replied Emma. Luke started up the stairs, Emma and I trailing right behind. We found the door to Tom’s bedroom ajar, so Luke pushed it open gently and we crept in.

Maybe the books were different, and there were more vitamins in his nightstand but everything else was just as I remembered it. Tom and Charlie lay side by side, a picture book open between them. Charlie’s hair was still a bit damp, and he wore soft blue pyjamas just like his dad’s. Our son was under the covers, Thumper tucked into the crook of his neck. Tom lay on top of the blankets, one hand stretched just a bit so he touched Charlie’s back.

My breath hitched. Ridiculous, I know. Tom is a wonderful father. Still, though, these moments I see between him and Charlie. They send me back to when we were together, when we were in love and shared moments like that all the time.

“So, how does this work?” I whispered to Emma.

“Charlie’s actually in a sleep. A deep sleep. Once you and Tom get going, his dream will begin.”

“Is he going to see everything that we do tonight?”

“Ah, no.” Luke interjected. “An appropriate dream version. For example, if you two end up drinking to excess, he’ll just see you acting silly.”

“If, and this is a big if.” I rolled my eyes when I saw Luke biting back a laugh. “What if we do, um, something else?”

“Define ‘something else’, Esme.” Emma said tartly.

“What if we, you know…” I crossed my arms. “What if we do more than kiss?”

“Any physical encounter beyond kissing on the lips will be represented in Charlie’s dream as the two of you moving furniture.” Luke smirked.

“Of course!” I snorted. “Anything else I should know?”

Emma consulted a notebook she pulled out of her pocket. “You have until sunrise to go wherever or whenever you please. When dawn comes, you will find yourselves back in your own bed. You and Tom keep your memories of the evening, and Charlie will think it’s just a nice dream he had.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. Okay. Alright. I’m ready. So shall we wake Tom up?”

“You do it, Es.” Luke gave me a little push. “Go.”

I approached the bed carefully, sitting down in front of Charlie first. He didn’t stir when I touched his face, smoothed down his hair. When I went to kiss his cheek, I inhaled deeply. He smelled like soap and baby shampoo and the faintest hint of something sweet. _They must have saved their brownies for bedtime,_ I thought. Getting up, I walked around the bed to Tom’s side and sat next to him. His lips were parted just so, his breathing slow and quiet. He didn’t respond when I shook his arm gently.

“Tom?” I whispered. Still nothing, so I leaned in closer. “Tom?”

“Maybe it’s not a word so much as…” Luke began.

“Don’t tell her! She’s got it.” Emma cautioned. She gave me a smile. “Almost there.”

“Really?” I protested. When Luke and Emma laughed, I shook my head. “Oh fine! It’s not enough my life is a fairy tale, it has to be Sleeping Beauty?”

“Well, you did always say it was your favorite…” Luke murmured.

“Shut it, Windsor!” I shooed them away. “Go downstairs. You can explain all this to Tom when he’s awake.”

“Fine with me,” Luke said airily as he exited.

“I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t eat all the brownies, Esme.” Emma said cheekily before following him out of the room.

Once they were gone, I turned to look back at Tom. Still asleep, dark blond lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. I saw the faintest sheen of lip balm on his mouth.

 _Finally,_ I thought before closing my eyes and kissing him.

In the years since Tom and I have been apart, we have kissed many times. Pecks on the cheek when meeting to drop off or pick up our boy. Air kisses at family functions or parties hosted by mutual friends. There have been many quick _whooshes_ of air between our cheeks, or one lips’ by the other’s face, over time.

We hug, of course. Quite a lot. Quick hugs, usually with Charlie between us. Or weird shoulder things at the aforementioned functions and parties.

But it has been ages since I kissed Tom like this. Lips on lips, breathing each other in. His mouth was soft on mine, and his breath was sweet. How long could I do this before it got creepy, I wondered, remembering that I was kissing a sleeping man who hadn’t consented to this.

Before I pulled away, his lips moved. They parted and god help me I took a breath before gently flicking at the inner rim of his lips with my tongue. That was met with a quickening of his breath, and then his tongue teasing mine. And when I felt his lips moving, pushing against mine, I whimpered. His mouth was so warm and wet, and he tasted so good. He tasted as good as I remembered.

All at once I felt Tom’s arms encircle me, loosely at first and then tightly as he ran his hands up and down my back. I raked the soft hair at the nape of his neck with my fingers, laughing to myself when he shivered in response. His tongue was slow and deliberate, exploring my mouth. Every lap, every lick and stroke, set my body alight. I felt my nipples harden, and a slow, almost torturous heat between my legs. I felt this kiss. I felt it everywhere.

I had missed this. I wanted to stay like this, lie like this forever. Forget history, don’t think about the future. Just kiss and hug and touch and burn, hold each other until one of us dared to let go.

“Tom?”

“Essie?” Tom’s eyes were heavy as he looked at me. “Something wrong?”

“No,” I whispered. “But I have something to tell you.”

“Oh that’s hardly fair,” he drawled. “You never have something to tell me in this dream. You always have something to _show_ me, and then the dream gets infinitely more interesting from there.”

“Ah, Tom?” I bit my lip. “This isn’t a dream.”

He gave me a Cheshire cat grin. “So am I not dreaming then, darling?”

“No, I’m afraid you’re not.”

He sat up, then looked at Charlie sleeping beside him. “We’re awake?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?” He peered at me, then at Charlie again. “Is everything alright?”

“I, I think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, maybe I should let Luke…”

“Luke?” Tom looked at the door. “He’s here?”

“Downstairs. He’s with Emma Watson. They have tea and brownies.”

“What do they need brownies for, Es? What’s happening?”

“Well, Tom, remember how we met?”

He nodded. “Seven years ago tonight. I took you out to show you the meaning of Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So is that why you’re here? To show me the meaning of Valentine’s Day, return the favor then?” Tom asked.

“Something like that.” When I grinned, Tom smiled back.

“Explain ‘something like that’”. He sat up straighter. “Please.”

“Well,” I said carefully. “It seems that Emma Watson is Charlie’s fairy godmother, and in her capacity as his fairy godmother, she’s sending the two of us out on a date tonight so in his dreams our sweet baby boy will see what it was like when the two of us were together. When we were still a couple.”

“Oh.” Tom’s expression was unreadable.

“What do you think?”

Tom smiled. “I think, Esme, I am ready for that brownie.”


	4. The Passengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night has finally arrived for Tom and Esme, who need to decide where in time they'd like to go. Even as they wonder what exactly will be awaiting them when they arrive.

_It seems we stood and talked like this before_  
_We looked at each other in the same way then_  
_But I can't remember where or when_  
“Where Or When”, Lorenz Hart

* * *

I miss Tom’s house.

I don’t mean that I miss living there. Well, I do miss that, but also: I miss the actual place. The air was never stale, and it was never too hot or too cold. The first time Tom brought me there, showed me inside before pushing me up against the front door so he could kiss me. I felt it straightaway. I knew. I was home.

I kissed Charlie, who was still fast asleep in his father’s bed, then slipped out so Tom could get ready.

Emma Thompson was waiting for me in the hallway. She offered me her cheek to kiss, then handed me a bag. “I thought you might want something to change into, so Christopher and I went back to your house for your things.”

“Thanks, Emma. Everybody still downstairs?”

She shook her head. “Luke and Emma Watson had to go, for very non-magical timey-wimey reasons. Being that it’s Valentine’s Day and they wanted to spend the evening with their loved ones. That leaves me and Christopher as your nannies for the night.”

“Thank you for staying.” I hugged her. “What will do you do?”

“Well, we’ve devised a plan that involves eating brownies and watching _Somewhere in Time_.”

“Let me guess, that was Chris’s idea, right?” I grinned.

“Yes,” replied Emma. “He still thinks it’s an abomination that none of us have seen what he calls ‘a landmark in the time travel romance movie genre’”.

I arched an eyebrow at her. “I thought that was _Sliding Doors_!”

“That’s more of an alternate universe thing, dear. Not strictly time travel.”

“There you go,” I said. “Putting that Cambridge education to good use.”

“Impertinence, madam!” Emma tutted at me. “I’m going back downstairs to soothe my wounded psyche.”

“I hear brownies are good for that.”

She winked at me. “Exactly my point, dearest.”

I got changed in Charlie’s bedroom. It is nearly identical to his room at my house, which is how Tom and I planned it. Same furniture and bedding, nightlights and toys. He has multiples of favorite books so he doesn’t have to carry them back and forth. Same goes for parts of his wardrobe. On the walls, there are photographs of Tom from babyhood until the the age of five. He adds a couple of new ones whenever Charlie has a birthday.

My favorites of them at the same age are from when they were both 4 years old. Their school pictures, identical shots of them sitting in a little chair from which it appears they are about to leap and run away. Impish grins, bright eyes, hopelessly messy hair, ridiculously patterned trousers.

Emma had packed a black cashmere cardigan with pearl buttons and a wool A-line skirt, also black. My go-to outfit for funerals, business parties, and now dates, apparently. Opaque black tights which, I noticed with dismay, were thigh-highs. But then they went so well with the lacy sky blue bra and knickers she’d also thrown in there. As well as the hot pink set. And a deep red satin bra with tap pants. I rolled my eyes at first. But when I tugged off my sweater and wiggled out of my leggings, I got a good look at myself in the mirror that hung on the back of Charlie’s bedroom door. A sports bra I wore for way too long between washings. Cotton briefs - BRIEFS - that stretched over my belly.

“Es?” Tom rapped softly on the door.

“Yeah?”

“Take your time. I’ll be downstairs with the others.”

“Got it.”

One last look at myself in the mirror. Deep breath as I pull off my underwear and begin to dress.

Here we go.

* * *

Downstairs in the living room, Chris was showing Tom something on his iPhone.

“It’s this app, Tom.” Chris tapped the screen. “Just like Uber, only the cars take you to different events in your timeline.”

“Do we call one of these cars to take us home when we’re done?” Tom took a closer look, squinting from behind his glasses.

“Yeah. Just type the word ‘home’ in that white box, then hit ‘Order’. Simple.” Chris clapped Tom on the shoulder. “Any questions?”

“Sure,” I said. “Are there any brownies left for me?”

“Sorry, love, but no.” Chris smirked at me. “You want to come over here and look at this?”

When I joined them, Tom peered at me, his eyes travelling up one arm to the collar of my sweater, where I had left a couple of buttons undone. “You look soft.”

“It’s the sweater. Cashmere. Had it for ages.” I cleared my throat. “Those look new.”

“Oh, yes.” Tom looked pleased. “You did like me in glasses, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I said softly, ignoring the warmth of my cheeks as they flushed.. “And I still do.”

“Oh?” Tom’s lips curled up in a tiny smile. “Where to?”

On the screen, tiny red cars moved slowly around a map of the neighborhood. A pin indicated our location. Above the map was a white box with the phrase “Enter destination” below it. Tapping the box displayed a list of places and dates.

There were so many of them, so many firsts, and not a few lasts as well. All of these milestones packed between February and December of 2015.

Hardly any time at all.

“Well?” Tom asked.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them, Tom was looking at me intently.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

We started out side by side but not touching, walking in a companionable silence until I stumbled over a crooked bit in the sidewalk. I didn’t fall but Tom offered his arm to me anyway. My hand slipped into place, right in the crook, like old times.

When we got to the corner of the block, just as we were about to turn in the direction of a few restaurants and bars down the street, Tom stopped. I watched him bite his lip as he squinted at something in the distance.

“Es?”

“Hmm?” I looked up at him. “What is it?”

“Before we go,” Tom said. “I think I should tell you something.”

“Tell me what?”

Tom startled me by placing his hands on my shoulders, then turning me around gently. Now facing each other, I could no longer sneak sidelong glances at him. I had no choice but to look right into his face. His stupid handsome face.

“Tell you that…”

Tom leaned forward, slipped his hands down and around my back, so he could take me in his arms. I turned my face so my cheek was pressed to his chest.

“Esme,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

His chest rose and fell as he took a breath. “I love you.”

“I know.” I looked up to find his blue eyes focused on me. “I love you. Charlie loves you. We love you, Tom.”

Tom cupped my face in his hand. “Petal…”

I froze. Just for a moment. Petal. When was the last time he called me that? Softly whispered in the morning when he’d wake me with coffee. Murmured to himself when he would undress me. Moaned in my ear when he would pull me onto his lap or pin me beneath him, and then…

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

“Essie, I love you.” Tom looked serious still, but the light in his eyes was unmistakable. Like every time he told me, they brightened just a little more.

I looked around for a spot where we could sit, and I could hold his hand, or he could hold mine which would suck for him because they were clammy and kind of gross…

Okay, Esme. Breathe.

“Can we…?” I nodded at a low wall just behind him, a wall that marked the edge of a front garden belonging to a blue house with a red door.

“Explain, Tom.”

Tom clasped my hands in his. “I love you. I know we’re in Charlie’s dream, but this is real. I love you.”

“You love me,” I said. “Like, you _love_ me.”

“I love you, Essie.” Tom said quietly. “I still love you.”

“I don’t know what to say, Tom.”

“How are you feeling?” He bit his bottom lip. “I know this is a lot…”

“Well, to be fair, this whole evening is a lot. What’s one more thing?” I took a deep breath. “One more big thing.”

Tom nodded, then looked down at our hands. They were tightly clasped in his lap.

“There’s something else,” Tom said.

“Oh?” I flexed my fingers, and he loosened his grasp on my hands. He didn’t let go, though. “What else could there be?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, is that so?” A nervous laugh escaped from my lips, and I cleared my throat.

“That is correct.”

“But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“I am.”

“Fine.” I shook my head at him. “Do it.”

Tom squeezed my hand. “You love me, too.”

“Well, yeah,” I retorted. “I just told you that.”

“No. You _still_ love me.” He searched my face for a sign that I understood what he meant. “You still love me.”

He looked so hopeful. So much so that I wished I could say that I knew what to tell him. What did he want to hear? What could I possibly say?

“Just think about it. Don’t say anything. Not yet.” Tom’s eyes met mine when I looked up at him again. “I’m just saying that, you still love me. You just don’t know it yet.”

I snorted. “You’re saying I don’t know how I feel?”

“No, that’s not it at all!” Tom ran a hand through his hair.

“You think I don’t know my own heart?” I cried.

“I think you…”

“You can’t tell me how I feel!” I cut him off.

“Well…” He sat there for a moment, deep in thought. And then the light came back into his eyes. “I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to show you.” Tom reached into his pocket and took out the phone. “I’m going to show you. I’m going to show you how much I still love you. How much you still love me.” He brought up the app and began tapping away. “And you’ll see.”

I didn’t hate Tom. I never really hated him. Which he already knew. But were we really still in love? Is that what we’ve been doing all these years? Loving each other but not doing a damn thing about it because we couldn’t be bothered? Or because we were afraid of fucking it up again? Of taking each other for granted like we did the first time?

I thought of Charlie, asleep in father’s bed, Chris and Emma taking turns checking on him. I thought of my little boy, and how excited he looked earlier today at lunch. When Tom joined us, looking at the two of us sitting side by side while his Uncle Luke talked to us about grown-up things. Charlie looked at us with the biggest smile on his face between bites from his gigantic sandwich.

I thought of Charlie’s two rooms, two sets of books, two wardrobes, two homes.

And then I thought of myself. The years spent devoted to my sweet boy, being the best mother I could. The years I put my needs for sex, for intimacy, for someone to take me to the movies and hold my hand on the walk home. The years I spent going on all-too-rare dates with perfectly nice men to perfectly nice wine bars. The few times I hooked up with Michael when I thought, well, if I can’t have a boyfriend, I guess a totally hot Oscar nominated actor isn’t so terrible.

But it wasn’t fair. Certainly not to me, definitely not to Michael or any of the other guys who never heard from me again. They were all so weak, my attempts at finding another man. My heart was never in it.

So where was it then?

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” Tom peered at me. “That’s it? You’ll do it.”

“I will. As long as we don’t go back to anything bad. Like, really bad.”

“Oh Petal, you know I would never do that…” Tom pressed his forehead to mine. “I promise.”

“Good.” I raised my head then stood up to stretch. I watched Tom tapping away, but I couldn’t see what he entered. He got up to join me, took my hand, then led me to the curb. Still on the corner, just on the verge, I rocked back on the heels of my shoes while we waited. “Tom?”

“Essie?” He turned to look at me.

“Where are we going?”

Tom’s reply was to show me the app, where a little red car was 1 minute away from picking us up. As soon as I saw the date and address of our destination, I let go of his hand so I could punch his arm.

“Ow!” Tom rubbed the spot where my fist made contact. “That was a good night!”

“It was, but do we have to go _there_?” I scowled at the phone. “Of all the places we went that night…”

“Oh Esme…” Tom sighed as a bright red Camaro roared up. It was loud and fast, totally not at home in this quiet, posh corner of London where they practically issued you a Range Rover when you got the keys to your house. We peeked in the windows, noting with surprise that there was no driver. Tom opened the passenger door and helped me in, before going round to the driver’s side to take his seat. The keys were in the ignition, the engine idled, but we had no idea how we were going to drive this car to where and when we needed to go.

When Tom pressed the gas pedal, he steered away from the curb and we just went forward. As we picked up speed, the streets of London blurred and then we were in a tunnel. A tunnel of stars and bright lights, faint voices we could hear when I turned on the stereo. I couldn’t understand any of the words, not until a woman’s voice, clear and crisp, began a countdown. “Thirty seconds to destination… twenty-nine… twenty-eight…”

As the car slowed down, the tunnel disappeared and then we came to a stop. The doors opened, standing slightly ajar so we could let ourselves out.

“I rather enjoyed driving that car.” Tom smiled wistfully at the car as it drove away.

“Maybe we’ll get it again, for the next stop,” I mused. “Come on, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go inside.”

We were at Terminal 5 of O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, Illinois. The terminal was quiet, as it was quite late in the evening. There weren’t too many people around, and they all tended to move slowly, the way people do when it’s very late.

When we found ourselves standing in front of the doors to the first class lounge, I hesitated.

“How are we going to get in?” Tom patted his pockets. “I have my wallet, but I don’t have my passport. Would we need to buy tickets to get in?”

“Shit.” I checked the pockets of my coat, finding only a tube of lipstick and a paper straw wrapper. “Nothing there. Let me check…”

Before I could undo the clasp on my purse, the leather flap popped up. Looking inside, I found boarding cards, and passports.

“Samuel J. Longfellow!” Tom chuckled when I handed him his ticket and passport. “That’s quite a remarkable handbag you’ve got there.” He peeked at my ticket and guffawed. “Honey Sweetbox!”

“Jesus…” I muttered. “That name is legit terrible. Like I’m a wannabe Bond girl.”

The young woman at the registration desk for the lounge looked at Tom’s face for a second, her brow wrinkled in confusion, as she compared it to his passport. “Good lord, you look just like another gentleman who came in.” She handed his passport and ticket back. “But the hair was different.”

“Ah.” Tom nodded.

“Yeah, he had way more of it.” She smiled at me. “And you look awfully familiar. Didn’t I just see you?”

“Um, no? I’ve never flown first class before.”

“Well, you will love it. International first class is the only way to go.” She nodded at the escalator. “Make yourself comfortable. A senior attendant will fetch you thirty minutes to boarding time. Enjoy yourselves, Mr. Longfellow and, um, Miss Sweetbox. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Upstairs, all was quiet. The few passengers we found didn’t notice us as we slipped past. They were all dozing or looking at their phones while we searched for the 2015 versions of ourselves. It was February 13, and we had arrived at the moment when we had said “I love you” for the first time.

And then followed it with raunchy sex on the floor.

We held hands, Tom taking smaller steps so he wasn’t pulling me along, and I didn’t feel like I was holding him back. Coming to a stop next to a cluster of potted plants, he turned his head.

“There.” He jerked his chin. “There we are.”

Letting go of his hand, I took a few steps around the plants and looked at us.

It was after we had made love. Our past selves were still on the floor, laughing because 2015 Tom was tickling 2015 Esme while she tried to get dressed.

“Tom, stop it!” She giggled. “You heard the announcement. We have to gooooooooo…” 2015 Esme’s eyes fluttered shut when he pressed his lips to her neck.

“But you’re so ticklish,” he said. 2015 Tom relented, though, getting to his feet. He took 2015 Esme’s hands and helped her stand. “Well, I can finish finding all the spots on the plane.”

“No, Tom,” she admonished. “You’re standing up in Benedict’s wedding. You need to sleep so you’ll look good in the pictures.”

“Yes, dearest.” 2015 Tom and 2015 Esme hugged, standing there for a long time. Sticking out of his back pocket, I could see the vintage valentine I had given him that the night. I pointed it out to Tom.

“Of course,” he said wistfully. “I never saw it after that night. I wanted to keep it, frame it for you but… I must have lost it in transit.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “They look happy.”

“We look happy,” corrected Tom.

“Right.” I nodded slowly. “We do.”

We turned our attention back to them, back to us. He was rubbing her back slowly, moving his lips against the top of her head between soft kisses. She held him tight, head pressed against his chest, like there was nothing in the world but them.

“This is final boarding for the first class cabin of British Airways flight 1518, non-stop service to London Heathrow.”

The announcement startled them, being so loud, and they broke their embrace. They walked away, towards their flight and their future. I saw 2015 Tom take his passport out of his pocket and when he did the valentine I had given him fluttered out and fell onto the floor.

“Oh god.” I looked up to find present Tom shaking his head. “I was so careless, foolish to not tuck it away somewhere safe.”

“It’s okay,” I consoled him. “It was just a little something.”

“A little something from you. Given when you told me that you loved me. Not knowing how I felt. Hoping that…” He looked at me, and I was surprised by the pain in his eyes.

“Tom, it’s okay.” I felt tears prick my eyes. “It’s alright. We’re alright. I mean,” I said as I swept my arm around the room. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cast a pall…”

“Stop it,” I said. “Come here.”

I slipped my arms around him, closed my eyes, and pulled him in for a hug. His arms found their way around me, and felt his hands resting on my lower back. If I had thought it was quiet and serene in this lounge, where time had actually come to a stop, that calm was nothing compared to the peace I found in his arms. The soft thump of his heartbeat slowed, and then it matched the pace of mine. I took a deep breath, taking in the scent of his cologne, and relaxed.

When I nuzzled his chest, he laughed softly.

“You always did love the way I smelled.”

“This is true.” I looked up to find him smirking at me. “The cologne, sure. But also whenever you came back from a run. Or right out of a piping hot shower.”

“Really?” Tom quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah. Something about the skin.” I snuggled into him again. “That, and I loved how pink you’d get.”

“Essie…” Tom whispered.

“All over.” I bit back a laugh. “You blushed all over.”

“Oh my god!” Despite his protestations, he looked a little pleased.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” I mused. “Can’t take a little harmless teasing…”

“This isn’t teasing but torture,” he retorted.

“Or is it flirting?”

Tom tightened his grasp. “Better.”

“Okay. Flirting.”

“I just can’t believe you admitted it…”

“Jerk!” I started tickling him, and he doubled over. Before he could return the favor, I dashed away. Just a few feet, so I could find the valentine that had fallen out of 2015 Tom’s pocket. I looked at it, tracing the two little birds, the ones that looked like us, and then the line, taken from “The Tempest”, printed on a ribbon the birds held in their beaks. Just a few words, but they were our words:

_The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service_

When I handed it to Tom, he flipped it over to look at the lipstick print I had left there the first time I gave it to him. He kissed it, slid into the inner pocket of his coat, then grabbed my hand as we began to walk out. We followed signs in the airport, down to arrivals where we’d open the app, and call for another car.

“Es?” Tom tucked a lock of hair behind my ears.

“Hmm?” His smile was really too much, so wide and open. His whole face shined. “What’s that goofy look?”

“It’s not goofy!” he said defensively. “I am a man in love.”

“A fool in love, more like,” I sassed.

“Your sass, my darling ex hopefully soon to be current beloved, shall get you nowhere. But pray, listen. That line, those words, I know they were ours. But it was never the whole story.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It was just the beginning, Essie.” Tom cupped my face in hands and recited:

 _Hear my soul speak:_  
_The very instant that I saw you, did_  
_My heart fly to your service; there resides,_  
_To make me slave to it; and for your sake_  
_Am I this patient log--man._

“Oh.” I breathed. “My slave.”

“Yes,” Tom said with a soft kiss to my temple. “Your slave.”

“And my log--man.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Whatever that is.”

A gleam appeared in Tom’s eyes. “Well, I’ve got a few ideas…”

“Ass!” I smacked him playfully. “Gimme that phone. My turn.”

Tom pressed the phone into my hands, closing his hands over mine. “Lead the way, love.”


	5. The Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Esme’s visit to their romantic past stirs up old emotions for Esme, emotions which follow her back to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work references a previous story in Tom and Esme’s timeline, “Make Way for Puffins” (I swear, that title seemed like a good idea at the time). MWfP is part of the “Somewhere, Ireland” stories, which are here: <http://archiveofourown.org/series/253006>.

_Getting to know you_  
_Putting it my way_  
_But nicely_  
_You are precisely_  
_My cup of tea_  
Rodgers and Hammerstein, “Getting to Know You”

* * *

Despite the late hour and the freezing temperatures, arrivals at O’Hare was still busy. Outside Terminal 5, Tom and I dodged taxis and hotel shuttles as we ran to the outermost curb to hail our next ride. He pulled on his gloves, then withdrew a small wool scarf from his pocket and draped it around my neck.

I tutted at him. “You need it more than I do. I grew up here, remember?” But my teeth chattered as I looked at the iPhone Tom had just handed to me. On its screen tiny red cars drove lazily about the little white pin that represented the two of us.

We could return to the happiest (but at times most frightening) day of our lives. A sunny day in June 2016 when, a month before he was due, Charlie was born. My doctor induced labor after she diagnosed me with preeclampsia. It all happened so fast, and I was so scared but I wasn’t alone. Tom was there. Production for _Thor 3_ was set to begin in July, but Tom had already pushed back his own start date to August. He spent most of June and July looking after us. I was on bed rest, so it was Tom who drove us to check-ups, picked up prescriptions and supplies, scheduled visits from friends and family who stopped by to visit and drop off food. Tom was there to change and feed Charlie, hold him when he was fretful, slowly waltz him around the nursery because he knew it made me happy. My best friend Ann had tried to take over when she arrived from Chicago to help, and Tom deferred to her on certain matters. But not everything. He was, after all, Charlie’s father.

There was also the day in Ireland, where we got engaged. It had been a beautiful if incredibly windy day out on the Slea Head in Dingle. But we had been fighting as we drove around because Tom had been taking business calls while we were meant to be on holiday. Or was it because I tried to shut him down when he wanted to talk to me about his work, his hopes and his fears about what lay ahead? In any case, we made up . We made love, outside on a cliff, the waves of the Atlantic crashing below. And then he asked me to marry him.

Why couldn’t I just go back to an easier time, when things were simple? Probably because none of it was simple. Every day I wanted to revisit was bittersweet. Because going back wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the loneliness I had felt when Tom was away for work. It wouldn’t change the resentment that bothered me when he came back, resentment that I would suppress so we could enjoy what little time we did have. Traveling back wouldn’t make him not take me for granted like he did, prevent me from bearing the responsibility of keeping our relationship going because I didn’t want to be a burden.

The current prospect of Tom showing me how much he loved me, still loved me, turned itself around in my head. All I could remember was how we couldn’t make it work the first time. For two people who fell in love while traveling through time, it was ironic (or perhaps just cruel) that ultimately what drove us apart was time (or rather, the absence of it) and timing (we got engaged and tried to get serious when his career, years in the making and planning, was just beginning to take off). There was time enough to fall in love, but not enough of it to keep that love alive and let it grow.

Ann always said I was the kind of person who would rather seek forgiveness than ask permission. I like to think that this makes me a bold and unafraid woman instead of a reckless and impatient girl. That would be true if I could say that all of my past actions as they related to Tom had been wholly motivated by love. But if I’m being honest, it was fear. Fear of losing him, fear of losing myself, fear of losing us. All totally understandable. Right?

Fuck that.

Once I decided where we should go, I could hardly contain my excitement. I typed in an address, hit the “Order” button, and smiled up at Tom. He regarded me with amusement.

“You look like you’re up to something,” he said, curling an eyebrow at me.

“What makes you say that?” When he tried to get the phone from me, I shooed his hand away and tucked the phone in my purse.

“No peeking. it’s a surprise,”

“A good surprise?” Tom asked hopefully.

“All surprises are good,” I declared.

“Since when?’

“Since Charlie.”

When I saw our ride come lurching around the curved drive and begin to slow down, I nodded at it. “Our chariot has arrived!”

Tom turned around, , then spun back around to me. The look of shock on his face was priceless.

“Es, what the he— ?”

“What’s wrong, Tom?” I looked up at vehicle that was so tall, it seemed to loom over us. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen a London bus before!”

* * *

 

I brought us back to the afternoon of Valentine’s Day 2022, back to our present, just after lunch with Charlie and Luke at Five Guys. Huddled together at the back of the top level of the bus (and grateful we didn’t have to drive the thing), we watched ourselves pick seats for the ride home. Tom sat next to Charlie, who started out in a window seat of his own. Soon, though, our son ended up drowsy and was soon fast asleep in his father’s arms.

Tom and Esme, who sat across the aisle from them, rode the bus in companionable silence. His head was bowed, for he kept his lips pressed to the top of Charlie’s head. He didn’t notice her reaching out to stealthily brush a few curls that had strayed from the carefully sculpted wave of hair on top of his head.

I felt Tom nudge me. “Were you tidying my hair?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “I remember how particular you are about it.”

“Particular is just a polite way of saying fussy,” Tom retorted.

“Maybe.” I turned to face him, peeking up at his forehead. “But it does look good.”

“What’s left of it of it, anyway.” Tom ran his fingers through his hair, and then back again as though he remembered it had to lie a certain way.

“You look good, Tom.”

He smiled at me, then nodded at the front of the bus.

“Look, they’re going.”

I turned, just in time to watch Esme precede Tom, who carried a still sleeping Charlie in his arms, carefully down the stairs. The bus pulled away quickly enough that I didn’t catch sight of them walking away, down the street towards home. After a few more stops, I could feel myself getting drowsy. It was warm, and something about the movement of the bus through traffic relaxed me. I reached toward the window and pulled the cord that hung above it. A soft _ding_ confirmed that my stop had been requested. I looked at Tom, then took his hand.

“Come on,” I said. “Next stop.”

“Where are we going?” Tom peeked out the window, grinning at what came into view. “Oh, that looks nice.”

“A little walking, a little talking. We’ve got some time.” I got up, waited for Tom to stand, before moving towards the exit. I could feel his hand on the small of my back as we got off, and began to walk up through the entrance to Hampstead Heath.

We walked for a while, hand in hand, not straying far from the gravel paths. Neither of us was wearing boots or shoes suitable for hiking. We had dressed for date night, not wandering the heath. We ended up in this sort of avenue, a flat stretch bordered on each side by a row of oak trees. Their branches were bare but it still felt dark underneath them. Just beyond, in one of the muddy fields, there was a solitary figure trudging after a golden retriever as it loped about. Apart from them, Tom and I were alone.

“So why now?”

“You mean why am I confessing my love now?” When I nodded, he chuckled. “Well, Charlie. He put us up to this.”

“Of course. But,” I said hesitantly, “if this day hadn’t happened, would you? Would we have done this?”

“Going out? Just me and you?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “The two of us. On a date.”

Tom nodded. “Yes. We could have done it tonight, even. After all, I _did_ ask you to join me and Charlie for supper.” When he grinned at me slyly, I had to laugh.

“You did! Yes, you did. Gold star for you, Hiddleston.” I bit my lip. “But what made you sure that I would even go out with you? What makes you sure of us now?”

Tom stopped, turning his head up to sky as though he might the answer there. It was just for a moment, and then he looked at me again.

“Honestly? I wasn’t sure that you consider it. Seeing me again. Seeing me that way. It was just, when I realized I loved you.” He squeezed my hand. “Still loved you, I knew I had to say something. Do something. Tell you.” When Tom trailed off, I stopped and looked up at him. His cheeks were pink, and they flushed a little more when I smiled.

“I wasn’t sure until I saw you today. Or tonight, rather. When I came by to pick up Charlie.”

“Oh?” I shuddered. “You mean when I looked a fright, covered in flour and cocoa powder?”

Tom smiled at me. “You looked beautiful, Es.”

“Sure, I did.” When I rolled my eyes, he shook his head.

“It was how I always pictured it. Pictured us.” His eyes were soft now, wistful. “Instead of me picking up Charlie and going back to mine, I was coming home to you. Flowers hidden behind my back, chocolate for Charlie in my pocket. I’d present the flowers to you, put them in a vase, then help you set the table for supper. Only we’d end up on the couch, eating from the same plate balanced on my knee, while Charlie had a little picnic on the floor. Watching _Mulan_ for the millionth time!” Tom cracked up, and I had to laugh with him.

“Oh I love that movie,” I said.

“I remember, Es,” replied Tom.

“And then what happens?”

“Charlie would fall asleep before the movie was half over. I’d carry him upstairs to his room while you tidied up, put away the leftovers, set the alarm.”

“And after that?”

“Well, after I put Charlie to bed… I’d come into our room, and you’d be in there.”

“So it would be my turn to put you to bed?” I said lightly.

Tom chuckled. “Something like that. We would talk first, before we turn in.”

“We would? What about?”

“Everything,” said Tom. “How our days were. What did we think of the pizza. Should we get Charlie that puppy he’s been begging for.”

I smiled. “Of course!”

“Everything we did that day, everything we felt. Nothing would be too big or too small to discuss.”

“We talked before, didn’t we?” I mused.

“But this would be different. Because I am different. We both are. This time, I would listen. I mean, really listen. I would hear everything you say, not just wait for my turn to speak, my turn to tell you what I think you’d want to hear.”

“Is that the only difference, then?”

Tom cupped my face in his hands, then pressed his lips to my forehead. He straightened up. “No. In the dream, I’d have slightly more hair.” I giggled, then shook my head.

“What’s different is that, this time, I know how to be with you. Be present with you. Love you. Bringing you flowers, feeding you pizza, all the gestures…” Tom shook his head. “They’re wonderful but they’re not as meaningful as the love behind it.”

“So is that you feel for me now?”

“It’s real,” Tom said. “It’s real.”

I didn’t know that tears had begun to course down my cheeks until Tom brushed them away with his fingers.

“That’s beautiful,” I sniffed.

“Thank you,” murmured Tom. “This is all just to say, I thought I knew how to be in a relationship before. I thought, I will love her. That will be enough. But there were no real sacrifices, no compromises I made. You were just supposed to sort of slot in.”

“Well, to be fair,” I said, “I never really asked you. I know I should have”

“That may be true,” replied Tom, “but I was never around long enough for us to talk about it, was I?”

“No.” I shook my head. “You weren’t.” My bottom lip, which had been trembling at this point, just gave up and shook as I pressed my head to Tom’s chest and cried harder.

He held me, whispering “I’m so sorry” into the top of my head as I continued to sob. When I felt him shudder, I felt a chill go right through me. It was raining now, and I could feel the damp through my boots. Tom let me go, just for a moment, so he could put an arm around my shoulder and walk us out of the park together. We came out a different way, not far from home, his or mine. But it was still too early in the day to go back to either. Our past selves were still there, getting ready for tonight, having no idea what Charlie had planned.

“So where to next?” Tom asked. “A nice hot beach, maybe?”

“Isn’t it your turn?” I tried to give him the phone but he shook his head.

“Surprise me, Es.”

“Are you sure about that, Tom?”

“Like you said, all surprises are good.” Tom nodded at the phone. “Lead the way.”

* * *

 

We went home. Back to my house that evening, in the moments after Chris and Emma had taken me to Tom’s house to begin the adventure. Tom’s grin could not have been wider as I showed him to the couch and handed him the remote control to my television. I went upstairs to change back into another pair of old leggings and a sweatshirt, hanging up the skirt and sweater Emma had brought me. I found a pair of men’s pajamas, which I sometimes wore to bed despite them being too long, for Tom to change into.

Back on the couch, I sat next to Tom while we took bites from the same slice of pizza, then a brownie. He popped up to get the sangria, which we drank out of old jam jars. We didn’t talk. Instead we took turns with the remote, flipping through all the channels, never stopping on one for long before moving on to something else. Tom silenced the television and turned his head to me. I was leaning into him, not really thinking. Just sort of being with him.

“What time is it?”

I glanced at the cable box underneath the television. “9:30, it seems.”

And that’s when we heard someone at the door. Not someone knocking, but some fiddling with a key to let themselves in.

“Shit!” I hissed, grabbing Tom’s hand. “That’s Emma. We have to hide!”

“Why would we have to hide?” Tom followed me as we slipped upstairs. “Would it be so shocking if Emma found us here now?” He stumbled a little when I shooed him into my bedroom.

“No, but…” I opened my closet door then pulled him in. “Well, I don’t know but get in here!”

The closet was not quite a walk-in, but still pretty big for us to hide in. Tom sort of crouched over me, close enough that I could feel his breath, soft and warm, right behind my ear.

I could also hear Emma as she moved around downstairs, talking to herself as she took in the scene that greeted her. “Erm, I thought we turned the lights out. And we definitely shut off telly. Why is it on _Baywatch_ ? I bet that was Christopher, _Somewhere in Time_ my arse. Ooh, sangria. One sip, ooh now two. Lovely. Okay, brownies and pizza to bring back to the boys. Outfit for the girl. Let’s get on with it, Thompson. Upstairs we go.”

The door to the closet opened, letting in a little light and, of course, Emma. Or at least her head and arms, anyway, as she rooted around until she found the outfit she was looking for. The very outfit that I had just taken off.

“Good jumper. Flirty skirt, though Esme would be loath to admit it. Does she wear nothing but black? Well, how is Tom supposed to… Oh! There may be something here.”

Then I heard a drawer being pulled open, and what must have been her hands rummaging about for something. Before too long, there was the sound of her unzipping a bag, putting the clothes in, and then leaving the room to head downstairs and out of the house.

When we emerged from our hiding place, we saw that Emma had left the nightstand lamp on. I sat myself down at the foot of the bed and watched Tom’s face as he just stood there. His smile could not have been wider. And then he began to laugh.

“What was that? Why was she here?”

“She was here on my behalf,” I explained. “She knew what we were going to do tonight, so she came back to get me something appropriate for going out.”

Tom nodded. “The soft jumper. The little skirt.”

I snorted. “That skirt isn’t so little. It has to fit over my belly, don’t forget.”

Tom smirked. “And it did so quite nicely, I thought.”

“Are you flirting with me?” I teased.

“Depends,” said Tom thoughtfully. “Is it working?”

I popped up and walked over to my bureau. The top drawer wasn’t pushed all the way back in, so I gave it a little nudge.  “The lingerie drawer. Of course.”

“Of course?” Tom asked.

I turned to look at him. He had taken my place on the bed, sitting back a little so his hands were splayed on the mattress behind him.

“Yeah.” I went to stand right in front of Tom. “She grabbed some bras, knickers. The pretty kind that match. Date night underwear. I was wearing some pretty old, sad underwear before.”

“I see.” Tom bit his bottom lip. He looked up at me. “And what are you wearing now?”

“This sweatshirt, as you can see” I said, then pointed at my legs. “These old leggings.”

I could have sworn I saw the pupils of his eyes dilate right then. I didn’t move when he sat up straight, then brought his hands round and let them rest lightly on my hips.

“What else?” Tom whispered. His fingers pressed down, just a little, into my flesh.

I took a breath, then another. His hair was just a little untidy. The pajamas looked good on him. He’d left the bottom button of the shirt undone, so it opened, revealing a bit of bare skin at the waist. I watched his belly rise and fall as he breathed.

I was warm again. Not the sort of sleepy warmth from the bus and its heaters, or the comfort of sitting on the couch and watching television. It was the kind that prickled the skin, crept up the back of my neck then spread over my chest. Then it was heat, in my face and, of course, between my legs.

But was this love?

I had no idea.

But it sure as shit wasn’t fear.

I put my hands on Tom’s shoulders, steadying myself as I straddled his lap. It had been years since we’d been this close, years since I’d looked at him from this particular vantage point. But the feeling was familiar. The same heat, the same sparks.

Again, that look, the one from before when he came for Charlie. Only now, instead of starting with “me” and then “you”, the look in Tom’s eyes, the feel of his hands on my body, a sharp intake of breath when he pulled my sweatshirt off and pressed his lips to my bare breast. They all said one thing.

Now.

Now.

Now.


	6. The Old Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esme and Tom reconnect, then head home.

_When I think of Tom_  
_I think about a night_  
_When the earth smelled of summer_  
_And the sky was streaked with white_  
_And the soft mist of England_  
_Was sleeping on a hill_  
_I remember this_  
_And I always will…_  
_There are new lovers now_  
_On the same silent hill_  
_Looking on the same blue sea_  
_And I know Tom and I are a part of them all --_  
_And they're all a part of Tom and me_  
Rodgers and Hammerstein, “Hello, Young Lovers”

* * *

Nobody kissed like Tom.

He was a nuzzler. That was how it started. His nose rubbing against my face. Lips barely out of reach, but close enough that I could hear and feel his every exhalation. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, flicked at my mouth to tease me.

He laughed, gently at first. Another laugh, this time a little louder. He said my name. _“Eheheheheheh. Ehehehehehe-Esme.”_  His stubble tickled my cheek, we breathed each other in and, with a little sigh his parted lips made contact with mine.

While I may have been the one on top, straddling his lap, I was just following his lead. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, grasp at the nape of his neck, but he placed them on his chest, right at the collar of his shirt. As I began to unbutton it, his own hands settled back on my hips.

I am not a small woman. I am not light or delicate. But I don’t feel that way when I’m with him like this. I never did. We always fit. When he’s between my thighs and I can feel him moving, rolling his hips, closer into my body. He can move me. So he does.

Once his shirt was off, I ran my hands along the planes of his chest. Still finely muscled, with sparse hair that tickled a little when I touched him. In the dim light, he looked ardent. Eyes bright and, despite the fact that I was half naked, sitting on his lap, the textbook definition of a sure thing, he looked hopeful still.

“It doesn't seem so long ago that I looked at you from here,” I whispered before kissing him.

My head fell back, and I had nothing to do but let him slowly kiss me down from my jaw, along my neck, and then to the base of my throat. When he started nipping at me, something he said earlier came to mind.

“Tom?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to press little wet kisses to the crook of my neck. And when he began to suck…

 _Sweet Jesus_.

“Tom, are you listening?”

“Mmmm.” He nipped at my throat. “Yes?”

“Oh!” I squeaked when I felt his tongue trace a path down to where his thumb was idly passing over my nipple.

“Sorry, darling,” he murmured. “Am I distracting you?” He didn’t bother keeping the amusement out of his voice.

“Maybe,” I sighed.

“Good.” He snuggled into me.

“What you said before? The dream you were having?” I brought my hands to rest on the back of his neck, not letting go when he tipped his head back to look at me.

“Ah,” he said sleepily.

“That dream you had. Have had several times, from what I understand.” I drew him in, then whispered. “What is it that, as you say, I have to show you in it?”

Tom held me close as he kissed me, tight enough that I felt like I was losing my breath. I would catch it, but only for a moment. A quick gasp, then his lips would be pressed to mine once more.

He leaned back, slowly, but before I had a chance to lie down on him completely, he rolled us over and all of a sudden I was lying beneath him. When I shivered, his brow wrinkled in concern.

“Cold?” He asked sweetly before kissing me. “Nervous?”

“No.” I took a deep breath. “Well, sort of. It feels like what our first time should have felt like.”

“Oh?” He pushed himself off so he lay next to me, smiling when I turned to face him.

“We were so caught up that first time. I mean, it was in the middle of a frat party, for crying out loud!”

Tom chuckled. “What was the theme? Remind me.”

“The Lascivious Costume Ball, dear,” I replied. “It wasn’t exactly romantic, I suppose, but it was fun. And it’s not like I regret it. But if we had to do it over…”

Tom cut me off, kissing me as he rolled back on top of me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight. The weight of his body on mine was so welcome, a gentle rocking as he swiveled his hips ever so slightly before grinding against me.

The years of telling myself I didn’t love him anymore, that I was moving on with my life, with other men — the act of taking Tom into my bed was not an erasure. This was a shift in perspective. We were different.

But he felt the same in my arms.

Tom shifted to the side, kicking off his pajama bottoms before he tugged at my leggings. They only made it halfway down when he slipped a hand between my thighs. He didn’t stroke me, not at first. He just cupped my sex. It was only when he started kissing me hard, his tongue teasing mine between nuzzles and little nips ( _oh, the biting_ ), that he moved his hand. The brush of his thumb on my clit felt almost accidental but it was enough to elicit a whimper.

He laughed, then began to trace another finger along my slit. I was wet, so wet, that his finger slid into my folds quickly.

“Ah!”

“You alright, darling?” He kissed to my earlobe.

“Yes.” I turned my face so I could look him in the eye. Pupils blown wide, they were almost as dark as mine. “Tom?”

Tom bit his bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Don’t stop.”

Tom kissed me, hardly giving us a chance to breathe. There was his finger slipping inside me, then pumping as his thumb circled my clit faster. It was agony, a delicious kind of torture, to be touched and teased and toyed with by him. The ache of longing was replaced by the ache for release, and I was so close. And as his cock was so big and hard on my leg, he must have been, too. But when I reached for him, desirous as I was to touch him, to please him, he shook his head.

“No, Petal,” he growled in my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Then the movements of his tongue against mine matching that of his thumb on that sensitive spot between my legs. There was no question of who was in control, who was in charge. With his free hand he cradled the back of my head, peering at my face when he wasn’t kissing me. When I was able to focus somehow, even in the midst of all that pleasure, I could open my eyes instead of squeezing them shut, and when I did I saw something.

I saw everything.

It was all there. The desire to touch me, and the satisfaction of bringing me pleasure. Delight. Lust. Confidence in what he was doing. Knowing what was yet to come. A close sort of attention not just to what he was doing but to how I responded. Care. So much care.

His eyes were wide when they met mine, brightening when I began to laugh from sheer pleasure. He craned his head forward, seeking out the hollow of my throat to kiss. When he did, my eyes fluttered shut again. He was moaning into my skin, saying words I couldn’t understand, words I could barely hear above the sound of my own cries. And then I was kicking, struggling to get those fucking leggings off. Tom helped me, moving his hand from between my legs down to my knees so he could yank them down.

As soon as my legs stopped tingling there he was again, nudging them apart. He opened me up. When he went up on his knees. I reached for him. I took him in hand _(fuuuuuuck)_ , stroking him as I guided him to my entrance. The head of his cock brushed against my clit, my hips bucked and I wanted to cry even though he was moments from being inside me once again. This wasn’t desperation but impatience. But what was one more second after almost seven years?

It was nothing.

Until I let him back in. Let him fill me. Before I could even think about shutting my eyes he shook his head.

_No._

_Stay._

_Look._

_Look at us._

I pressed my lips to his neck, pursing them against the faint pulse. Bit my lip when he began to roll his hips but it wasn’t long before I started laughing again.

“Es?” His voice was low in my ear.

“What?” I murmured lazily.

He snapped his hips. “There!”

“Oh!”

“Fuck, Es…” Tom’s eyelids were heavy. “You’re so…” He kissed me, sucking on my bottom lip. “You feel so good.”

I just nodded, kissed him back, then began to tighten with every thrust. Holding on when he would pull back, which earned me a string of hissed obscenities that devolved into animalistic moans whenever he filled me again. Out. In. Back. Forward. Apart. Together.

When I arched my back, something changed and all of a sudden he was hitting me in that spot, just inside. I screamed, and it was all I could do to meet him halfway. Seek him out with my body, chase that feeling that didn’t come in waves so much as shocks.

The beads of sweat on his brow. The sound of his grunting in my ear, and the mattress squeaking under me. The insides of my thighs were sore, not just from being so stretched but also from the force of Tom as he continued to fuck me. When I slipped a hand between us, the mere brush of my finger against my clit made me jerk. That’s how sensitive and turned on I was. A familiar feeling, nearly forgotten. Only he could do that. Nobody else had ever come close.

“Pet… are you...?” When I nodded, he moved in a bit so he could hold me again. One last circle, the touch of my hand and Tom so big inside and then it happened. I came hard, still holding on but just barely. If I thought I was out of breath before, when we were just kissing, it was nothing to the way I felt now.

Dizziness gave way to a sort of euphoria, and I was warm all over. All I could see was his face. Contorted as it was, so consumed with lust was he, but he was still so goddamn beautiful. And he was still going, pumping into me, so I grabbed him and held on. He was so fast, and hard, and just as I thought he would go on forever, he went still. Just for a moment, and then his hips jerked. Once, and then again as he came inside me. As I cried out he kissed me, swallowing every breath and gasp until we melted into the bed, and into each other.

_Jesus. H. Christ._

“I’m sorry,” whispered Tom before kissing my earlobe.

“Why?” I turned to look at him. He looked so sweet.

“I… I wanted it to last longer. But, Essie…” He smiled ruefully. “I was so excited and…”

“I know. So was I.” I nuzzled his cheek. “It was nice.”

“It was more than nice.” Tom sounded serious.

“I know.”

“You felt so good, Es.”

I kissed his cheek. “As good as before?”

“Better.” Tom kissed me gently. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered. “I love you.”

The look in his eyes was hopeful again. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice cracking just a little bit.

I ran my thumb across his cheekbones, trying to wipe away the tears as they coursed down his face. “Yeah.” I hugged him tight. “Yes.”

* * *

“We still need to talk.”

“Do we have to get out of the tub to do it?”

“God no!”

“Shall I retreat to the opposite end to keep this business-like?”

“I think business-like flew out the window the moment I took my sweatshirt off and you started kissing my breasts.”

“Alrighty.”

“Also you are very comfortable to lean against.”

“I know.”

“You good?”

“Let’s see. I’ve got you naked, in the bath, wriggling against me while my hands are resting quite comfortably on your breasts.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yes, darling.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“So we love each other. Now what?”

“If it were up to me?”

“Tell me.”

“We get out of the bath…”

“Boo!”

“Get dressed…”

“More boo!”

“Run to my house. Wake up Charlie. Go somewhere, just the three of us, for a week. Come back, you move in…”

“Me? Why me?”

“Okay so I move in, and we live happily ever after.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Essie…”

“What do we tell people? How are we going to explain this to Charlie?”

“Do we need to tell anybody? Straightaway, I mean.”

“You mean like a secret?”

“No. We need to do this right.”

“Right meaning…?”

“We take things slow. Go to counseling. I love you, Esme, and I know you love me. I am the happiest man in the world because you do. But we still need to work on this. On us. At least I do, anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Talk about the old issues. Be prepared for new ones. Figure out how to talk about them.”

“Does that include fighting?”

“Essie…”

“You know, for all of our problems the first time around, [I thought we fought pretty well.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3705541)”

“I always thought so.”

“It was just when we stopped fighting…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Good.”

“What else?”

“We stay put in our houses for now.”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course.”

“Can I sleep over?”

“I want to say yes…”

“But we don’t want to confuse Charlie.”

“I don’t want to promise him something so soon, too soon.”

“Of course, love.”

“But I want to do this with you.”

“Thank you.”

“So we tell Charlie we’re thinking of spending more time together. The three of us.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Then just the two of us.”

“Then we sit him down, once we know.”

“Not a moment before. And once we do…”

“I hope he’s okay with it.”

“We just need to be careful. When we tell him. How we tell him.”

“Of course, love.”

“He’s going to ask for a baby brother.”

“He’s been asking.”

“That would be fine with me.”

“What?!”

“All of his little friends at school are getting siblings. He tells me this quite often. Who are we to deny him?”

“Tom, that conversation… months away at the very least, I tell you. Months!”

“But it’s going to happen. We make cute babies.”

“Ha! That tickles!”

“Good!”

“Hahahahahaha!”

“We’re going to work, we’re going to take this seriously. But goddamnit if we’re not going to enjoy ourselves.”

“You are a nut.”

“I reckon for every hour of couples counseling, I get two hours in bed with you.”

“Greedy!”

“You don’t have any demands?”

“Umm… you let me tie you up every once in awhile?”

“Esme Frances Grey!”

“What?”

“Naughty…”

“Whatever. I know what I like.”

“Thank god.”

“It’s me you should be thanking.”

“I thought we could just go back to bed for that.”

“Fair enough.”

“So do we have a deal?”

“Shake on it.”

“By ‘shake on it’ do you mean I take you back to bed and go down on you until you’ve screamed yourself hoarse?”

“If you insist…”

“Minx.”

* * *

I was too shaky after Tom spent a wonderfully long time making out with my clit, so I made him go downstairs to get the iPhone while I waited for the feeling to return to my trembling limbs. When he returned he stood in the doorway, completely naked with the goofiest smile on his face, looking at me while I smirked at him.

“Very nice, Ms. Grey.” He snuggled into me as soon as he dove back into bed.

“What time is it?”

“Just past midnight, love. For us, anyway.” Tom frowned a little. “Not sure how much time we’ve got left here before we, or rather, the other us, come in from the park.”

“With Emma right behind.” I nodded. “Should we go home? Back to the present, I mean.”

“Back to mine? We could.” He began to trace patterns on my arm with his fingertip. “However would we fill the time until morning?”

“Sleep, you dope.” I kissed his temple. “Definitely sleep.”

“Pfft.”

“Spoiled.”

“You owe me!” Tom said indignantly. “You didn’t even get me a birthday present!”

“What?!” I thought about it for a second, then realized that he was right. Which was more annoying than me forgetting. “Aw, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“No customary card and banoffee pie.” Tom pushed his bottom lip out at me. “I was so sad. And hungry.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” I started giggling, then full on guffawed when Tom started tickling me.

“Where is it? Where’s my present?” He bounced around, cackling until I reached up and slapped his cheek playfully. “Oooh. That was nice.”

“Really?” I bit my lip. “So, tying you up. The occasional slap…”

Tom grinned at me, waggling his eyebrows.

I shook my head. “No! Not now! We don’t have time for this!” I felt around for the phone, which Tom had dropped on the bed. “Get dressed. Pick a place. I’ll tidy up in here.”

“But Es…” Tom pleaded.

“Get going! Unless you want to have a foursome with the other Tom and Esme?”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” mused Tom. “But now that you mention it…”

“Forget it!” I could feel myself blushing. “I take it back.”

“Now, now. Just a tick.” Tom looked at me smugly. “Let’s consider it, at least. Isn’t _your_ birthday next month?”

“Out!”

After I locked up, I joined Tom outside. The look on his face wasn’t mischievous, exactly, but he definitely looked like he was up to something. I recognized it because Charlie would pull the exact same face.

“What?” I poked him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” he said just a touch too innocently. “We’re heading home. That’s it.”

“No, it isn’t.” I peeked over his shoulder. “What is it? Where are we going? When?”

Tom merely shook his head. “Surprise.”

“Boo!”

“Wasn’t it just you who said that all surprises were good?”

“I was kidding!”

“Too late.” Tom kissed the top of my head. “It’s done.”

At that precise moment, a black vintage Mini Cooper pulled up in front of us. Tom dashed around to the passenger side, getting my door and helping me in before he got behind the wheel. There was no key, just a red button to press. Pushing it got the engine going but when he put his hands on the steering wheel, Tom found that it would not move.

“Try the gas?” I suggested. He mashed his foot on the pedal, and then pulled at the gearshift but nothing.

“Well, that makes sense,” said Tom. “I typed in ‘Home’, which I thought would be my house. But I guess it’s yours. Date’s right.” He nodded at the clock on the dashboard. “Look.”

The clock was spinning forward, though seconds and minutes and hours, counting off the days and years until we arrived at… today. Or so I thought. While the displayed month and date on the clock were February 14, the year was 2042.

“What?” I looked up at Tom, my eyes full of tears. “What did you do?”

“Sorry, love.” He sniffed. “A date in the future. It wasn’t there before. I wanted to see us.”

“Greedy boy.” I buried my face in his chest when he put his arms around me. “I don’t think I can…”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I looked up at his face. “What if I aged horribly?”

“Impossible,” he murmured. “Come on. Look.”

Tom leaned back a little in his seat, giving me enough room to scoot over and rest my head against his chest. I blinked once, then again, and took a deep breath.

Inside the car we were snug and warm while outside it was cold enough to make the windows frosty. Tom rubbed at it with his hand, making a clear spot where we could see the front of my house. It looked older, but still well taken care of. The light in the front hall was bright as it shone through the leaded glass window.

Just as I was about to wonder if anything was going to happen, the car shook as though something or someone bumped into us from behind.

“What the…?” We looked behind us, but couldn’t see who was there.  Then, through the spot Tom had made, I saw her.

A young woman bound up the stairs. Dressed in a bright red coat over jeans and black Doc Marten boots, she had long black hair that fell in untidy waves down her back. Instead of pressing the doorbell, she held her face against the glass and yelled.

“I know you’re in there!”

She raised her fist, poised to pound on the door, but was stopped when the door opened to reveal a man wearing an exasperated expression on his face.

“Is that? Is she?” Tom looked at me. “Oh my god, Es. I didn’t think… I thought it would be us.”

The young woman held her arms open. “How are you, my favorite brother?”

He shook his head at her. “Loon. I’m your only brother.”

They were so beautiful. Our children were so beautiful.

Charlie’s dimples revealed themselves when he smiled at his sister’s wisecracking, and his eyes were merry behind his glasses. She had her father’s high, sharp cheekbones. But her face was unmistakably heart-shaped. Just like mine.

“They shouldn’t stand in the door like that,” I muttered. “They’re going to get colds.”

Tom tutted at me. “He’s got his coat on. Now hush, I’m trying to eavesdrop.”

Charlie stepped aside to make room for a beautiful woman with flawless ebony skin, who joined them as she pulled on her own coat. Her dark eyes were enhanced with just a little shimmery aubergine shadow, and she wore her dark brown hair in braids arranged into a chignon on the crown of her head. A head shorter than Charlie, she waited for him to smile down at her before she playfully rolled her eyes at him.

“What are you doing, not letting your sister in?” She pecked our daughter’s cheek. “Do your parents know what awful manners your brother has?”

“See?” Our daughter stuck her tongue out at him. “Even Amina knows.”

Charlie simply ignored his sister, and drew Amina into his arms. “Wife. Darling wife.” He looked down at her adorably round belly. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, dear. Me, and the little critter who is now doing gymnastics on my bladder.” She wrapped a long purple scarf around her neck. “Your mom called to thank us for the flowers and the pie.”

“Oh, and Daddy said we should get a move on. Food’s already there,” our daughter said excitedly.

“Wonderful,” sighed Amina. “I am famished.”

Pulling the door shut behind them, Charlie offered his arms, one to his wife and one to his sister. They made their way down the stairs, then turned to walk in the direction of what I could only guess was Tom’s house.

I couldn’t speak. I could only sit there, letting the tears stream down my face while Tom held me. He hiccuped between laughs.

“They’re so… did you see them?” Tom smiled. He looked so proud. “Amina sounds American. I wonder how she and Charlie met.”

“She’s gorgeous. And they’re having a baby!” I looked up at him. “We’re gonna be grandparents, Tom! I can’t be a grandmother yet!”

“Well, no,” drawled Tom. “We’ve got about twenty years to prepare that.”

I bit my lip. “Is it too soon to start baby-proofing?”

“What? Essie, no!” Tom smiled but then a look of concern crossed his face. He looked out the window again. “Unless… how old did she look, our daughter? And how did Charlie not say her name?”

“Twenty, maybe? Definitely young.” My mouth fell open. “You don’t think we…”

“Es, I think we just did.”

“What?!”

“Fuck, Es, we didn’t even _think_ about using a condom!”

“We can’t have…” I tried to calculate in my head. “There’s no way!”

“Anything’s possible,” said Tom.

“Anything? Anything meaning we conceived our daughter tonight?”

“Well, we did just travel through time. Again.”

“And we’re in love. Again.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He nuzzled my cheek.

I sighed, then peeked down at my belly. “I guess we’ve got a stowaway, then.” I smiled when Tom placed his hand there. “So much for taking it slow.”

“We can still take it slow,” replied Tom. I felt him press his lips to the top of my head. “Nine months, give or take. Plenty of time to start courting again…”

“...become a family…”

“... move in…”

“...get married.” I looked up at him. “But only if that makes sense.”

“Well none of this makes sense. But it feels right, wouldn’t you say?”

I hugged him. “I think so.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Tom put a hand on the steering wheel. “Home, Essie?”

I nodded. “Yes. Let’s get home. I want to be there when my little valentine wakes up.”


End file.
